Endurance
by L J Groundwater
Summary: Complete. Suffering can be physical, emotional, or spiritual. How do Hogan and his men endure, and overcome, when the odds are stacked against them? Borderline T to M rating.
1. Passing in the Night

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Text and original characters, however, are mine.

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Robert Hogan sat at a corner table in the small pub, casually sipping his beer and looking straight ahead. He was used to having to pass some time on his own while waiting for a contact, and since he had had the rare luxury of being driven to his destination, he was ahead of schedule, just the way he liked to be. With time to spare, he could ease into his environment and blend into his surroundings, looking more like a local who belonged, rather than an intruder who might be in town to cause trouble.

The American Army Air Corps Colonel was comfortable sitting here in his civilian clothes in the middle of Nazi Germany—that was, at least as comfortable as any spy could afford to be on either side of the war. He'd certainly been out amongst Germans before, but usually that was a lot closer to the prison camp where he'd been assigned after being shot down in July of 1942. Everything near Stalag 13 was almost as familiar to him as his hometown; he had burned into his memory every road, every house's occupants, every Underground agent. Tonight, he was farther afield—in Hofberg, rather than his usual haunts in Hammelburg. But to Hogan, the information he was getting was worth the extra risk: particulars about the aircraft assembly plant that was about to start operating here—guards, production schedules, even details about the planes themselves, rumored to be greatly advanced over Germany's current aircraft. Those details were worth their weight in gold to Allied Headquarters in London, and as soon as Hogan got them back to Stalag 13, he would have his radio man, Sergeant James Kinchloe, translate it all into code and send it off to England. Then G2 could pick it apart and use it as they saw fit—hopefully, Hogan thought, including wiping the assembly plant off the face of the earth.

Now, Hogan's dark eyes bored into the wall across from him, letting the muted noise of the sparsely filled pub wash over him as he considered the week ahead. This mission was different: too far from camp, he'd decided to do the reconnaissance in person instead of sending one of his men, and it would take more than one quick trip outside the wire to get what he needed. So he'd organized to get out of Stalag 13 for as long as it took, by getting one of the men in his top-secret sabotage and espionage operation to dress up as a Luftwaffe officer and whisk him away on the pretence of forcing the former flying ace to help work on designs for a new German aircraft.

Hogan smiled as he remembered the chaos that had reigned in the office of the camp Kommandant, Wilhelm Klink, just that very morning. Sergeant Andrew Carter, perfectly transformed into the fictional _Gruppenführer_ Knopf, had been just menacing enough, and just vicious enough, to be convincing to the German Colonel, and as Hogan loudly protested the demands being made of him, the Allied men had secured Hogan's absence from the camp in a way that would not be considered suspicious.

The images of the scene earlier that day faded into the back of his mind as he now contemplated the single perk of this mission: he would be getting the information through an agent with whom he always looked forward to spending all the time he could. And tonight, once they had made their initial contact, they might even get to spend some private time together, away from the eyes of strangers.

Hogan didn't have to glance at his watch; he knew she wasn't due for another six minutes. Being the extraordinary agent she was, she wouldn't be a minute late, or a minute early. And being the extraordinary _woman_ she was, Hogan knew she would be nothing less than captivating. It was a combination that, despite himself, Hogan couldn't help but be powerfully attracted to, even though he had fought desperately against it, because he firmly believed that intimate relationships in a time of war could be dangerous to everyone involved. But on those rare occasions when he had time to simply sit back and think, he cherished the preciousness of their quiet stolen moments in a time of turmoil and destruction.

A minute passed. Out of the corner of his eye, Hogan saw two men in Gestapo black enter the establishment and work their way around the room, demanding papers in hushed voices and asking questions before moving on. He felt a prick of tension as they moved closer to him, but he did not show it outwardly; rounds were fairly commonplace now, and as long as his papers were in order—which, thanks to RAF Corporal Peter Newkirk's flair for forgery, they were—he would simply be thanked and allowed on his way. The uneasiness spiked a little when he saw a young man sitting three tables away being led away, and it intensified a lot when he saw yet another, older gentleman being escorted out of the pub. But Hogan continued to drink, glancing only fleetingly at the scene around him. That wouldn't seem out of place in Nazi Germany; you minded your own business, to avoid becoming an unwelcome part of someone else's.

A few more sips of the beer he was nursing, and Hogan looked up to see a man in black standing beside him, staring down.

"You will come with us."

Hogan blinked casually at the Gestapo officer standing above him, his glass mid-way to his lips. "I beg your pardon?" he asked politely.

"You will come with us, now," the man in black repeated.

Hogan frowned—a natural reaction, he concluded, which was a good thing, because inside he was doing much more than that. "What seems to be the problem, Captain?" he asked. "I have my papers."

"I do not care about your papers."

Hogan arched an eyebrow. "Then I do not understand what the issue is. Have I taken your favorite table?"

The German officer cocked his head. "You will wish it was that simple if you do not do as you are told." Hogan's brow furrowed more deeply. "Stand up. Now."

"Very well," Hogan said, rising. The Captain took a step back to allow Hogan to move. "But you're making a mistake."

"The Gestapo does not make mistakes."

The large German pulled Hogan impatiently by the arm, and, outwardly calm, Hogan shot a look of disdain at the officer before moving along. His eyes scanned the pub, and he let himself take comfort in the fact that his contact had not yet entered the building. Moving outside into the cold, he wondered how she would ever know what had happened to him when she turned up and found him gone.

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Her eyes studied and then disregarded each of the two men as they were led from the pub and into the shiny black cars. The appearance of the _Geheime Staatspolizei _had stopped her, as well as several people around her, in their tracks, and she could only stare across the street, as fear gripped her heart and prayers sprang to her lips. Thinking she had seen the last and that she could finally relax, she lowered her head and let out a breath of relief. But then a murmur from beside her made her look up, and her heart caught in her throat.

There was another one. Though not handcuffed, the tall, dark-haired man in the light-colored trench coat was clearly being arrested, and she could only watch, anguished, as he was pushed roughly into the car. The person she had come to Hofberg to see was now in great danger, in all probability facing interrogation and possibly death. She tried to reassure herself that he was strong both mentally and physically, and that the men of his covert operation would free him before long. But even as the thought crossed her mind, she doubted it, and she felt sick inside, knowing that what he would soon be suffering would wound him for life, if it didn't kill him outright.

She closed her eyes only briefly as the car disappeared around the corner, and in her mind's eye she could see his dark eyes looking deeply into hers, revealing to her a heart both genuine and vulnerable. She could feel his hand cupping her cheek, his lips brushing hers ever-so-softly, his breath whispering across her brow. Her own heart reeled.

_Robert…_

She pulled away from the sanctuary of the building and ran through the shadows to find someone, anyone, who could stop this terrible turn of events from becoming a tragedy.


	2. Reasons Revealed

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright text and original characters LJ Groundwater, otherwise all copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

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Three and a half hours later, Hogan was still sitting in the small, cold cell that he had been shoved into when they had first arrived at Gestapo Headquarters in Düsseldorf. His nerves were raw and he was on edge, but he had been left alone for so long that fatigue had also crept in. Hogan fought the numbing effect the isolation was having on his brain; _it's just something they do to wear you down and get you to talk,_ he reminded himself. Abruptly, he stood up and paced the tiny room to help keep his mind alert, and he once again reviewed the facts.

He had been in Hofberg for about three hours when he made his way into the _hofbräu_ at the end of the main street. The set-up was that he would do some local shopping, then arrive just after nine o'clock at night at the _rendezvous_ point and wait for Tiger. She would show up at nine twenty and engage him in conversation, then they would leave together at nine forty, when she would take him to the first contact he would meet in connection with the assembly plant.

But she had missed the Gestapo, a fact that filled Hogan with both relief and concern. He had not seen her get taken by the authorities—but had she been taken before she had a chance to get to the pub? Had she been sold out and arrested, and unable to hold out against their infamously cruel interrogation, thereby leading to his own, subsequent, arrest? Or was she still out there somewhere, and wondering what had happened to him? His stomach tightened at the possibility that the beautiful Resistance leader was not safe—or if she _was_, that she might try something rash once she realized what had happened to him.

Turning back toward the small bench, Hogan decided that the only bright spot in this very dark situation was that he was being held in Düsseldorf, and not at the Gestapo Headquarters in Hammelburg. If he had been held in Hammelburg, Hogan's possibly least-favorite Gestapo officer—Major Wolfgang Hochstetter—would have been bound to become involved at some stage. Hochstetter had long held suspicions about Hogan's espionage activities, but, through some of Hogan's fancy maneuvering and the grace of God, the German had so far not been able to prove any of them. If he had seen Hogan sitting in that pub, or had seen the American sitting in a cell in Hammelburg in civilian clothes, then there would most likely be no way out of this.

_Not like I know for sure there's a way out of it **now**,_ Hogan reminded himself, sitting back down and giving his arms a quick rub. His overcoat and dress jacket had been taken from him before he was pushed into this cell, as well as his shoes and socks, his belt, his tie, his watch, his wallet, his identification papers, and anything else he happened to be carrying. He crossed his arms and leaned down into himself for a bit of warmth. It was the waiting… the not knowing, that would torment him.

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James Kinchloe opened his eyes wide when the he felt someone touch his shoulder and was instantly fully awake. He waited impatiently for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, then realized he was staring straight into the face of his barracks-mate, Andrew Carter. He sat up, alert and concerned. "What is it?" he whispered.

"I think someone's in the tunnel," the Sergeant answered softly. "I heard noise down there."

Carter was a lot of things—over-enthusiastic, silly, sometimes downright frustrating—but there was one thing Kinchloe knew the young American _wasn't_: and that was prone to hearing imaginary sounds. If he woke the radio operator from a deep sleep in the middle of the night, then there was a reason. Kinchloe immediately got up from his bunk, which hid the tunnel entrance. "What kind of noise?" he asked.

Carter shrugged. "Dunno. Just… noises. Something. Someone's moving down there, Kinch."

"Okay." Kinch raised his arm and pushed the occupant of the upper bunk.

A low growl was the response, followed by an irritated, "What?"

"Noise in the tunnel. Someone's down there."

Corporal Louis Le Beau sat up, also instantly awake. "What is it?" he asked.

"Don't know," Kinch answered. He moved toward the bunk nearest the barracks door and shook the person in the top berth. "Newkirk—the tunnel."

The Englishman started protesting but soon stopped when he realized three of his closest companions were also up. He hopped down from his bunk to join the others. "What's going on, then?"

"Carter heard someone moving down there," Kinch answered. "There—" he said suddenly, as a sound reached his ears. The others nodded. "There it is again."

Newkirk headed for a small bench at the table of the common room to retrieve a pistol from its hidden compartment in the seat.

"I'll go," Kinch said; "Newkirk, you back me up. Carter?"

"I'm the one who heard it—I'm coming," Carter said.

The others nodded agreement. Newkirk handed the pistol to Kinch, and grabbed another, smaller one for himself. Then Le Beau tapped the side of the bunk, releasing the ladder that led to the tunnel below. Kinch and Carter slowly descended, knowing the others would follow soon after.

Kinch set foot on the tunnel floor first. "Nothing here," he said under his breath to Carter. "Let's move out a bit."

Carter nodded, and the pair shuffled away carefully, hearing the ladder creak softly as Le Beau and Newkirk descended. A sudden sound to Kinch's left made the Sergeant spin and tighten his grip on his gun. His voice low and threatening, he demanded: "Who's there?"

The men tensed as the noise got closer, then sighed with relief as they finally saw their "prowler."

"Tiger!" Newkirk burst. "Blimey, you nearly gave us heart failure. What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry," the Frenchwoman said; "but I didn't know what else to do."

Seeing her clearly distressed expression, Le Beau suggested softly, "Let us get her upstairs. _Vous êtes froids?_" he asked her, giving her arms a gentle rub.

"_Oui_, a little," she answered.

The group quickly headed up to the barracks, and Le Beau went straight to the stove to get something warm for Tiger to drink as Newkirk checked the windows, then put on the light above the common room table. Tiger herself took in the activity around her mechanically, too anxious to protest or even gather her thoughts easily. Thankfully, one of Hogan's men got right to business. "What's going on, Tiger?" Kinch asked as he sat beside her. "Aren't you supposed to be in Hofberg with Colonel Hogan?"

"_Oui_," she answered. Then, with a difficult swallow: "But he has been arrested by the Gestapo!"

The tightening in the chests of Hogan's men was immediate.

"What happened?" Carter asked when he finally found his voice.

Tiger looked from one man to the next as she explained, "I went to the _rendezvous_ point as expected. But when I arrived, the Gestapo was there." She shuddered as she remembered. "They were arresting people. _Colonel_ Hogan was among them."

"What'd they arrest him for?" Newkirk asked. His mind reeled. "I was sure those papers were—"

Tiger shook her head. "I do not know. When I was certain what was happening, I ran away."

"Where's the Colonel now?" Kinch asked.

"He has been taken to Gestapo Headquarters in Düsseldorf. That is all I have been able to find out." Her eyes started searching the faces of Hogan's men, desperate and scared. "I thought… perhaps if I could get to you…"

Newkirk nodded, understanding and sympathetic. "We'll get right on it, love," he said grimly.

Le Beau brought over a cup of fresh coffee. "Drink this," he said to Tiger. "You must get warm." He looked at his companions. "We have to get _le Colonel_ away from _les Boches_."

"We have to find out what happened," Kinch added, nodding. "If we don't know why they have him, we won't know how to get him out."

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Another hour passed before Hogan heard the door to his cell being opened. He had given up on pacing and even on thinking, and had finally sat down on the uncomfortable bench, registering with some disgust that the short, bare seat was going to serve as a bed at some stage as well. If he was lucky enough to be brought back to his cell whenever he was done being interrogated. _For whatever it is they want from me._

He opened his eyes and looked toward the door, squinting slightly when the bright light of the hallway illuminated the room. A man with a black uniform, a snarl and a gun stood in the doorway. _"Kommen,"_ he said, with only a slight movement.

Hogan heaved a sigh and stood up. "Can I at least have my shoes?" he asked wearily as he passed the guard. He didn't expect an answer, and he wasn't disappointed.

The guard brought him down a long, concrete hall and up some stairs to an office, where he was pushed inside and the door closed behind him. Standing in his bare feet and shirt sleeves, Hogan felt a prick of humiliation as he faced the impeccably dressed Major sitting at the desk in front of him. But he tempered it; _that's exactly what they're aiming for._

"It was very good of you to come and join us this evening," the officer said in polite German.

Hogan answered in kind. "How could I refuse your gracious hospitality?"

The Major smiled. "Your German is very good," he praised.

"As it should be, _Herr _Major. One's native language should always be one's best."

"But it is not your _only_ language, is it?" the German asked. "You speak another."

Hogan took a chance. "As do you," he said in English.

The German laughed, delighted. "You are right!" he answered, his English accented but clearly well-learned. "I have had to learn English in order to do my job well."

"So have I," Hogan said. _"Es ist eine schreckliche Sprache, nicht wahr?"_

Again the German laughed. "It is terrible, indeed; a very _crude_ language," he said. He smiled. "I am Major Heinrich Golz," he said, continuing in English. "And _you_, _mein Freund_, are a mystery."

"I don't see what's so mysterious. You have my papers; took them rather rudely, I thought. They will tell you who I am."

Golz shrugged. "I do not look at papers. I listen to information. And the information I have been given about you, sir, is very fascinating, indeed."

"What kind of information is that?"

Golz's smile suddenly disappeared. "According to our intelligence, the _hofbräu_ you were in tonight was to have been a meeting place for an important member of the Resistance. We have every reason to believe that you either _are_, or _know_, this person."

Hogan's insides, already growing cold because of both his physical deprivations and his worry, plunged even further down the thermometer. "That just goes to show you," he said, his outer calm never faltering: "_military intelligence_ is sometimes an oxymoron."

Golz let out a tiny laugh, then: "And sometimes it is right on target."

"Have you checked my credentials?" Hogan asked, disturbed. "I am _Abwehr_. You can cross-check my claim. Then you would be kind enough to give me back my things, and let me go back to my job."

"Why were you in that _hofbräu_?" Golz demanded abruptly.

"I was having a drink."

"Who were you meeting there?"

"No one."

"That is a lie."

"Did your officers _see_ someone at my table?"

"You were to have met someone. Our intelligence sources were quite certain of this."

"And that's why you arrested two other men with me? Because you were so sure that _I_ knew this partisan?"

Golz waved a dismissive hand. "They were nothing. They will be released if you tell us the truth."

Hogan's face hardened. He didn't like the implications of that.

"Who were you meeting tonight?"

"No one."

"Who are you?"

"I already told you: _Abwehr_. Check my papers. I am Captain Erich Stark. On special assignment from Berlin."

"And who else are you, that you speak _die englische Sprache_ so well?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Because you would be betraying your partisan friends?"

"Because it's a secret that my superiors in Berlin would rather everyone not know about."

"Even if it would spare you this interrogation?" Golz asked.

"Even then," Hogan answered as sincerely as he could. "Think about it: would you expect members of the Gestapo to give away their cover stories if they could simply get the _Abwehr_ to accept what they said?"

"But I am not accepting what you say."

"Then call Berlin. I'm sure they'd be very interested in hearing that you're holding me."

"I do not talk with _Abwehr_."

"Why not? We're all on the same side of the war."

"Sometimes I am not so sure about that," Golz replied.

"_Dann werden wir beide geschraubt,"_ Hogan declared, his use of guttural language meant to express his frustration—and confirm his legitimacy.

Golz absorbed the words in silence, then quietly said again: "Tell me who you are."

"Tell me who you're looking for."

"Tiger."


	3. Making Plans

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text and original characters belongs to L J Groundwater.

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Carter pursed his lips and scrunched up his face as he considered the possibilities. "Maybe we're panicking for nothing. After all, the Colonel has his papers—as soon as the Gestapo calls _Abwehr_ and talks to Major Teppel, he'll be off the hook."

But Newkirk shook his head. "I don't like it," he countered, frowning. "The whole idea of those papers and the cover story was to stop Colonel Hogan from being arrested in the first place. If they didn't work _then_, we can't presume they'll work _now_." He stared hard at a speck of ash on the stove. "Plus, no one from the Düsseldorf Underground has reported that he's been released. And they're watching that place like a ruddy hawk now."

"I don't like not knowing why they have taken him," said Le Beau as he emerged from Hogan's quarters.

"Is she sleeping?" Kinch asked. He and the others had agreed that there was nothing to be gained by Tiger leaving tonight; she was scared and tired, and very little would be accomplished before morning anyway. But relegating her to the tunnels below the barracks was out of the question, so they decided that she should have some small comfort—and privacy—in Hogan's empty office.

"She does not want to, but I think she will be soon," Le Beau answered with a shrug. He joined the others at the table. "What have we found out?"

Kinch heaved a sigh. "Nothing."

"Why don't we just get dressed up as Germans and tell them we want Captain Stark back?" Carter suggested.

Newkirk shook his head again. "That'd only work if we knew they believed his papers in the first place. _And_ if we knew why they've arrested him."

Le Beau nodded glumly in agreement. "Not to mention that it's a bit far away for us to simply disappear from camp without a good cover story. And we would need transportation."

Kinch nodded. "Like the way we got the Colonel out in the first place."

Newkirk took a final drag from his fourth successive cigarette and threw it into the stove. "Tiger said they arrested three people—an older man, an ordinary bloke, and Colonel Hogan. Could he just have been caught up in a general round-up for questioning?"

"Maybe," Kinch mused, but he wasn't convinced. He frowned and watched as his hands seemed to curl into fists of their own accord. "I can't take this not knowing anything."

"We might as well face it, mates," Newkirk said unhappily: "we're not gonna be able to do anything until the Underground network finds out what's going on _for_ us." He sat down heavily at the table, his blue eyes a reflection of concern and of a fear that he was not very successfully trying to hide. "And waiting's just not my cup of tea."

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"_Schultz!"_

The voice of Kommandant Wilhelm Klink carried so far out of his office that the Sergeant of the Guard actually jumped even in his state of half-wakefulness, which was how he preferred to approach early morning roll call. Hans Schultz looked away from the grumpy prisoners of Barracks Two he had assembled, and sighed in the direction of the _Kommandantur_. His big eyes seemed ready for reproach.

"_Schuuuuuultz!_" Once again, Klink's voice echoed through the compound in the dim morning light. But this time, Schultz and the prisoners were both met with a very strange sight: the German officer descending the steps of his office, the buttons of his long uniform jacket done up incorrectly under his long overcoat, his cap pulled down over a face half-shaved and cross.

The prisoners exchanged looks as the Kommandant approached the assembly. "Schultz! You imbecile; why didn't you _come_ when I called you?"

"I am sorry, _Herr_ Kommandant," Schultz replied carefully. "But I thought you were shouting _at_ me, not _for_ me."

"That's the best idea I've heard today," Klink muttered. "Schultz, there is no electricity in my quarters; the entire building is in darkness. I had to get dressed in the dark; I couldn't even _shave_." He frowned. "Find the electrician and have him look after it _immediately_!"

"_Jawohl_, _Herr _Kommandant." Schultz started to walk away, then turned around. "_Herr _Kommandant, don't you want me to make my report?"

Klink balled up a fist in front of his face as he forced a frustrated sound out from behind tightly pursed lips. "You idiot, _of course_ I want you to make your report! I didn't come out here just to watch you waddle around the compound. _Report!_"

"_Herr_ Kommandant, all prisoners are present and accounted for."

"And bloody freezing, thanks, mate! Why don't you let _us_ into your dark rooms—we could use the sleep!" came Newkirk's voice. The prisoners laughed. Anything that got their blood warmer in the morning was welcome, and that included tired jokes.

"Dismiss the prisoners," Klink ordered, ignoring the Englishman's comment. He turned back toward his quarters. "And make sure you get me a flashlight."

"_Jawohl_, _Herr_ Kommandant," Schultz said wearily, for what felt like the tenth time in the last two minutes. He waved off the prisoners and then shuffled away, full of instructions before he had even had a chance to have breakfast.

The men of Barracks Two, meanwhile, were thinking of anything but food as they hustled back inside.

"Well, that oughta keep Klink distracted for awhile," Newkirk announced. He walked to the door of Hogan's quarters and tapped lightly. "It's safe to come out now," he said.

Tiger appeared almost immediately, looking neat but not rested. She nodded to Hogan's men as she made her way to the table. "How are you this morning, love?" Newkirk asked gently. He glanced at the others to confirm that their opinions were the same as his: the Frenchwoman wasn't holding up well at all.

"Sit down and have something to eat," Le Beau fussed.

Smoothing back her hair self-consciously, Tiger quietly agreed. "_Merci_, Corporal," she said.

"We're not gonna just sit back, Tiger. We're gonna find out what's going on and we're gonna get Colonel Hogan back," Kinch said, trying to sound reassuring.

"_Oui_, I know," Tiger answered, not terribly convincingly.

"Did you get any sleep?" Le Beau asked.

Tiger shrugged her shoulders slightly. "I don't know," she answered. "Perhaps a couple of hours. I just kept seeing…" She let her voice drift off as her mind's eye went back to Hofberg. She shook her head and looked down at her hands. "If only I knew…" She couldn't finish the thought aloud: _that he was safe… that he had seen me outside the hofbräu. _She closed her eyes, trying to contain her emotions. _He would be worried about me…._

Kinch nodded. "We understand," he said quietly.

Watching her with care and concern, Carter told Tiger, "We're waiting to hear from our contact in Hammelburg, at Gestapo Headquarters."

Newkirk nodded. "We're hoping he can get some information from Düsseldorf so we know what we're facing." He pursed his lips. "And what the gov'nor's up against."

"And then what?" the Frenchwoman asked.

Kinch finally let out the sigh he had tried to stifle. "And then… we see what we can do."

Tiger nodded, not reassured but wanting to be. She nodded her thanks when Le Beau put a plate of food in front of her. She looked at it, but the mere thought of eating turned her stomach. Le Beau knew immediately, but said nothing. She had always had a special relationship with _le Colonel_; it would be hard for her to concentrate on anything else at the moment. "Maybe you can tell us… what happened before you got to the _hofbräu _last night," Le Beau suggested. "Perhaps it can give us some idea of what happened."

Tiger nodded, anxious to do something—anything—that might help. "All right." She waited a moment to gather her thoughts as the others settled in, smiling briefly, gratefully, at Carter, who sat close beside her. "I… went to Hofberg early in the day and met with several people who are active in the Underground there. The plan was for me to meet _Colonel_ Hogan and take him to some of the others to be briefed, then bring him to the safehouse where he would be staying until his work was done." She paused for breath and found herself blinking back tears. "But when I got to our _rendezvous_—" She cut off, and lowered her head.

"Who were these people?" Newkirk asked thoughtfully. "Could one of them have been a plant?"

"I don't know. I don't_ think_ so," Tiger replied; "these people have all been with the Resistance for a very long time."

"So if they _were _bad, hopefully they'd have been picked out by now," Kinch mused.

"Suppose somebody just got careless?" Carter proposed. "I mean, mistakes happen; someone might have heard something said about the meeting."

Tiger shook her head. "It's not likely. We met in a very secure location."

Le Beau crossed his arms grimly. "It looks like we have to face it," he said: "_Colonel _Hogan just got unlucky." He let out an exasperated sigh. "And it will be very hard to figure out what to do about it."

"Well, we're not gonna let him rot in some Gestapo jail, that's for sure," Newkirk declared.

"We'd better get word to the people in Hofberg to lie low for awhile," Carter suggested.

"But hang on," Newkirk countered. "How do we know one of them didn't turn on us?"

"We don't," Kinch admitted. He rubbed a hand over his mouth and considered.

Le Beau asked Tiger, "Whose idea was it—meeting first in public, instead of _le Colonel_ simply going to meet you at the secure location?"

Tiger pursed her lips and thought. "I cannot remember." Her eyes searched the room, looking for an answer. "I think it was… Josef's. And then we all agreed it was smarter, in case _Colonel_ Hogan had been followed. And it met with the approval of their leader."

"Who's their leader?" Newkirk asked.

Tiger bit her lips as she thought. "They called him the Hunter," she said. "He was not there—they sent him a message, and he approved the plans." She turned to Kinch. "We should warn them."

Kinch exchanged looks with the others. "I'm not sure who to send a message to, at this point," he said. "If we let any one of those people know that you weren't taken, it could make things worse for the Colonel—and for everyone else." He was still for a moment, just thinking about the situation they were in now, and what kind of trouble their commanding officer was in.

"I should have gone back to warn them," Tiger said, shaking her head in self-reproach. "They could be in danger now. But all I could think of was…"

"It's okay, love," Newkirk assured her. "You did the right thing."

"Maybe the best thing is to simply pass on a message via the local Underground that there's been a delay in the meeting. No names, no explanations. Nothing that lets them make a connection to the operation directly," Kinch ventured.

"Right," Carter agreed. "We only ever made contact with them through the local folks anyway; they don't know who Colonel Hogan really is—they didn't even know his _name_. As far as they were concerned, Tiger was only meeting with him because she knew him, not because he was Papa Bear."

"That's right," Tiger said with a nod. "They knew someone was coming to help them, but they did not know he was part of this operation. _Colonel_ Hogan wanted it that way."

Le Beau nodded agreement. "Because the less anyone knows, the better." He scowled. "Usually."

Suddenly, with a loud, surprising _pop!_ the light above the common room table went out, startling them all. Le Beau recovered quickly, then shook his head in disgust. "It looks like Klink's electrical troubles are spreading to the rest of the camp," he said. "It will take forever to get another bulb!"

"That sounded just like a gunshot!" Carter declared.

"Remind me of that again when I peel my heart off the ceiling," Newkirk retorted, trying to bring his breathing back to normal speed.

Kinch looked at the light thoughtfully. "It did sound like it, at that," he said.

"So?" Le Beau asked.

"I wonder if we can use this little problem to our advantage."

Carter furrowed his brow. "How's that, Kinch?"

"Well, we're gonna need to keep Klink out of our hair while we figure out how to get the Colonel away from the Gestapo," the radioman said.

"That's right," Newkirk admitted. "But how is this gonna help? As soon as he gets the electrician to fix it, that'll be the end of it."

"What electrician?"

"The one Klink told Schultz to get on the job!" Newkirk replied. His patience at the moment was extremely limited. "Weren't you at roll call this morning?"

"I sure was," Kinch said. "Only I happen to know that the camp electrician, Corporal Mueller, is on a week-long pass. Schultz was complaining that Mueller got one when _he_ wanted one."

"So?" Le Beau asked again.

Kinch sighed tolerantly. "_So_, we all know how Klink gets flustered if everything isn't perfect. And when he can't get things fixed up himself—like having Mueller around to fix the electricals—he usually hunts down Colonel Hogan to fix it _for_ him. If _we_ volunteer to take on the job, Klink won't worry so much about the Colonel being away. It'll buy us time."

The others nodded, considering the idea.

"I'm also thinking that if we can keep Klink a little off-balance, he might not take so much notice of the length of time the Colonel is supposedly with Knopf. We'll have to play it carefully—make enough progress to keep Klink happy, but mess it up just enough to keep him distracted," Kinch admitted. He shook his head. "It sounds like a simple wiring problem. But Klink doesn't know that. And if he starts getting too jittery, we can fix it up quick and for real." He shrugged. "I just… don't know what else to do."

"Well, what other options do we _have_?" Le Beau asked resignedly. "Klink is expecting _Colonel _Hogan back in a couple of days. It might take us longer than that to get him away from the Gestapo. What do you suggest, Kinch?"

"Carter, can you make up some noise-makers for us? You know—something that can sound like a gunshot without actually _being_ one?"

Carter smiled and sat up straighter on the bench. "You betcha, Kinch." He looked at Tiger. "I've got a whole bunch of stuff down in the tunnel that can make all sorts of noises and scare the bejeebies out of—"

"Great," Kinch interrupted, nodding. "I'm gonna need to you rig a few other things around camp, too. Newkirk, if you volunteer to be the electrical expert, Louis and I can keep an ear on the radio and monitor the phones, just in case Klink decides to find out why the Colonel's taking so long to come back to camp."

"Whatever helps, mate," Newkirk said immediately. The thought of what was happening to Hogan was making him feel sick inside, and he wanted nothing more than to go charging blindly into the Düsseldorf Gestapo Headquarters and get his commanding officer out of there. But if the best way to help him was to cause trouble in camp, then he would do it. "As long as it gets the Colonel out of there—fast."

"As fast as we can, Newkirk," Kinch said grimly. He looked at Tiger, who had watched the foursome scheming with a slightly bewildered expression on her face. "I just hope it's fast enough."


	4. Testing the Limits

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text and original characters belongs to L J Groundwater.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan sat stiffly in the hard chair, having resigned himself to being firmly secured to it and unable to move more than a couple of inches before the shackles holding his ankles in place or the handcuffs attaching his wrists to the arms of the chair reminded him painfully that he was not in control.

He had been sitting here for over an hour, alone. And though he couldn't help wondering what was still to come, Hogan was grateful for the respite. When Golz had been in here with him, it had been all interrogation and abuse, and he was still coping with the pain of the blows he'd received. His right eye hurt like hell, but he could still see a bit out of it, so he hoped that meant there wasn't any permanent damage. When he ran his tongue along his swollen lips, he tasted blood. His stomach was incredibly sore and he longed to bend over to relieve some of the hurt, but whenever he gave in and did so, his battered shoulder blades protested that they were suffering more, and he had to relent.

So now, Hogan sat uncomfortably. Waiting. Trying not to think about his various aches and pains, or the constant headache that stretched from behind his eyes around to his temples. Conserving his energy for the next encounter, when he knew he would be tested again. It was a hard task to accomplish while chained to a chair.

Exhaustion finally took over and Hogan let his head droop, thinking vaguely that at least falling asleep might push some of his throbbing headache away. Letting his mind go blank, he closed his eyes.

It seemed like only a few seconds later that he heard the door open behind him. But the stiffness and pain that accompanied the raising of his head told Hogan he had been dormant for at least a few minutes. He tried to clear his mind, to be ready for his next trial. But he was unprepared for what he saw.

Golz and one of the guards who had helped give Hogan some of his more violent bruises came to stand before him, pulling along a young man whose eyes held only incredible fear. Hogan recognized him as one of the two men who had been arrested at the pub with him last night. His mind flashed back to the conversation he had had with Golz when he first met the German Major: _They will be released if you tell us the truth._ He felt a chill go through him as he watched the guard position the man, bound and gagged, in the middle of the room, facing Hogan.

Golz came to stand before Hogan, who silently raised his head to look at his captor. "We need answers, sir, and we _will_ get them."

"It'll be difficult for him to talk with that gag in his mouth," Hogan responded dryly. _What is he doing? Oh, God, please, don't let him do what I think he's doing…._

"He does not need to speak," Golz said with a smile that showed he appreciated Hogan's attempt at humor, meager as it was. "It is _you_ whom I need to hear from."

"There's nothing to tell you," Hogan said, his voice betraying a quiet desperation, as his eyes remained locked on the young man standing not ten feet away from him. _What was Golz going to do?_

Golz drew out a pistol and placed the barrel up neatly against the side of the young man's head. The man let out a muffled cry, and Hogan could see he was trembling. "Are you sure of that?" the Major asked politely.

"I'm sure of it. You're making a mistake. Let the boy go."

"I will give you to the count of five, sir. Let us see what else you have to say."

The man's wide, terrified eyes bored straight into Hogan's. "I already told you: my name is Captain Erich Stark. I'm _Abwehr_; there _is_ nothing else. Let him go."

Then the numbers started coming. Calm and steady. "One."

"Please. I'm not who you think I am."

"Two."

"You don't have to do this. _Listen to me._"

A click as the gun's safety device was disengaged. "Three."

"I am Captain Erich Stark, _Abwehr_. _I don't know anyone called Tiger_. _Please!_"

"Four."

"For the love of God, stop this. _Let him go!_"

"_Five._"

"**_No!_**"

Hogan screamed as the gun discharged. Lowering his head, he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the sickening thud of a bullet penetrating flesh and bone, followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor. For the longest ten seconds, there was complete silence. Then, exhausted, Hogan slowly raised his head. What he saw confused him. The young man was still standing before him, shaking uncontrollably. Golz, beside him, was holding his gun with the barrel pointed toward the wall behind him, and when Hogan looked at the wall, there was a neat hole in it that must been made by a bullet from the Major's pistol. Finally, it sank in: Golz had never intended to shoot the boy; he had merely used him to try and force Hogan to confess to being involved with—or to _being_—Tiger.

It hadn't worked, but it had taken its toll on the American. As the young man was pulled out of the room by a guard, Hogan felt all the adrenalin rush out of his body at once, and he slumped as far in the chair as the restraints would allow him. With his eyes closed but his mind still seeing everything, he replayed in his head those horrible few seconds over and over again. He had to protect Tiger; he _had_ to—for her, and for all those they both worked with. Doing otherwise had never been an option. But the price, he realized again, would be high.

The sound of approaching footsteps made Hogan look up again, and there was Golz, standing above him, smiling condescendingly. Hogan stared back at him blankly. "And so, sir, I ask you: who is Tiger?"

Hogan's spirits dropped even lower, and he found he could speak no louder than a whisper when he replied, "My name is Captain Erich Stark. I am _Abwehr_. I know no Tiger. I wish to go back to my unit." _Please… just let me go back to my men._

The look on Golz's face told Hogan that his wish was not about to come true.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Le Beau's head appeared at the top of the ladder. "We have a visitor," he announced somberly. "Iron Hans is in the tunnel."

The men scrambled as one to the ladder, with Carter stopping almost shyly to lead Tiger there as well. "He's in touch with our contact in the Hammelburg Gestapo," Carter explained. "He'll be here to tell us what's going on with the Colonel."

Tiger nodded, her worried face now showing some reluctance, and a lot of fear. Still, she moved steadily toward the bunk, determined not to be left out of anything that concerned Hogan's fate.

Kinch was the first to step forward when they descended. "Thanks for coming so far," he said as a greeting.

The large German nodded and glanced briefly at the others standing huddled together. His eyes stopped when they alighted on Tiger, and she straightened as she looked back, expectant. "We knew the information was urgent. And too important to entrust to a radio transmission," he answered shortly. His voice was gruff, curt. Not with lack of care, Hogan's men realized, but with the burden of his news. They worried even more.

"What's going on, then?" Newkirk prompted impatiently. Iron Hans looked cautiously at Tiger. "This is Tiger; she saw Colonel Hogan getting hauled off." Still, Iron Hans hesitated. "What did you find out?" Newkirk pushed.

The agent nodded slowly. "Colonel Hogan is, indeed, being held by the Gestapo in Düsseldorf. They are accusing him of being a member of the Underground."

"But what about his papers?" Newkirk burst, unable to get over the worry that his forged identity papers for the Colonel had not worked, that somehow the Englishman himself was responsible for Hogan's current predicament. "Why aren't they looking at his _papers_?"

"They accept the papers. They believe that he is Captain Erich Stark."

"Then why don't they—"

"They also believe he may be Tiger."

The devastated "_No!_" that escaped Tiger's mouth coincided with her knees turning to liquid beneath her. Carter, standing closest, immediately took her by the arm to stop her from folding onto the tunnel floor. She brought a quivering hand up to her face and closed her eyes, shaking her head as tears quickly welled up from within her.

"_Tiger?_" Kinch repeated incredulously. "Why do they think that?"

Iron Hans glanced briefly at Tiger before turning to the others. "The Gestapo received some very reliable information that Tiger was to be at the _hofbräu _last night. They know most of the locals—follow their comings and goings. Colonel Hogan stood out from the others, simply because he is not known in Hofberg."

"So why does the Gestapo not contact the _Abwehr_?" Le Beau asked insistently.

"The Gestapo and the _Abwehr_ are not the best of friends. If the Gestapo believed they had arrested a member of _Abwehr_ who was also a traitor, they would want to secure a full confession before reporting it to Berlin. That way, the _Abwehr_ would have very little say over what happened after that."

Kinch cursed under his breath. "Then this is even worse than it sounded in the first place."

"I am afraid so, yes."

Tiger was now sitting by the radio, her face buried in her hands. "How could this happen?"

"Someone betrayed us," Le Beau answered bitterly. "Someone _sold you out_."

"Yeah," Newkirk snarled, "and when I find out _who_…"

Kinch shook his head impatiently. "Look, what's important now is getting the Colonel out of there." He looked at Iron Hans and made sure he held his eyes. "How is he?"

The agent lowered his gaze, and his voice. "He has been treated badly. But he has not given up any information. There have been at least two interrogation sessions so far."

Another moan from Tiger. "No. No, it cannot be. It _cannot_!"

Iron Hans looked regretfully at the Frenchwoman. "I am sorry. But the information came from a source directly inside the Gestapo."

Tiger's eyes fell away, and she seemed to shrink into the chair. Carter wrapped his arm around her shoulder, trying to comfort her. What the agent had said shook them all. Someone had been careless along the way. Or, more likely, someone had turned traitor. In either case, Hogan was now in an almost impossible situation: at the mercy of the Gestapo, in a place far enough away from Stalag 13 to be difficult to get to, with no way of simply claiming to be an escaped prisoner, and with the biggest reason of all to give away nothing: to protect a fellow agent, someone they all knew he truly, deeply cared for, and would shield at all cost.

Iron Hans watched Tiger with compassion, then said almost reluctantly, "I am afraid we are going to have to consider the idea that one of the people whom Tiger met yesterday… is a traitor, or a Gestapo plant. Have you gone back to see them?" he asked her.

Tiger shook her head. "I came straight here—"

"That is good," he said, his features softening as he looked at her trembling figure and her large, troubled eyes; "it may have saved your life. If there _is_ a traitor among them, you are safer here than with them."

"But what if there is not?" Le Beau asked. "Who will warn these people?"

Iron Hans heaved a sigh. "They should be smart enough to realize something is wrong when neither Tiger nor Colonel Hogan shows up again. In the meantime, if there is a spy, he will think he has been very clever."

Tiger suddenly turned to Carter, whose arm was still around her. Her eyes, her body, were pleading. "Let me turn myself in; it's _me_ they are looking for."

Stunned, Carter looked back at Tiger, unable to find words. Newkirk spoke up, sharing her desperation but knowing what she was asking for was impossible. "Not a chance, love—"

"But they will let him go if I hand myself over to them! I will tell them I have never even _seen_ Captain Stark before—"

"You know there's no guarantee it would go that way. They could very well take you and _still_ hold onto him."

"But you _know_ what they are doing to him." Tiger's spark went out as suddenly as it had appeared. Her voice dropped until it was barely audible. "I cannot let them keep hurting him because of me."

Kinch came forward, his deep brown eyes full of both sadness and concern. He crouched down in front of her. "Marie," he said gently, his use of her real name getting her full attention, "the Colonel would never forgive himself if you let yourself get taken by the Nazis for him."

Against her own wishes, Tiger nodded. She knew it was true, and the fact was both a comfort and a torture. The tears in her eyes finally spilled down her cheeks. "Then what can I do?" she asked softly.

The silence in the tunnel was deafening. Finally, Kinch replied, "You can help us catch whoever made this happen. We're going to set the Colonel free. Somehow. I promise you that," he said firmly. He could only hope the determination he was trying to show wasn't being betrayed by the real, deep fear in his heart. "We're going to bring Colonel Hogan home."


	5. All in the Mind

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Text and original characters copyright L J Groundwater.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Kinch knocked softly on the door to Hogan's office and, when invited, poked his head inside. Tiger was sitting, unseeing, on Hogan's lower bunk. "Just thought I'd… see how you're doing," he explained gently, coming all the way into the room and closing the door.

Tiger lifted her eyes to the Sergeant and desperately wanted to offer him a smile of thanks for his care. But she found she could not, and simply met his brown eyes with her own. "Thank you, Sergeant," she managed to say.

"What Iron Hans had to say must have come as quite a shock to you," Kinch continued softly. "I know _we_ never expected the Gestapo to think that Colonel Hogan was _you_." He could see nothing but self-blame on the French agent's face. He understood why she would feel that—after all, it was _her_ that the Gestapo had been hunting. But he knew—and Colonel Hogan had always reminded his men—that the spy business was unpredictable, and every one of them was potentially in danger every minute of every day. It wasn't anybody's fault; it was just the way it was. All the caution in the world couldn't change the one twist of Fate that could send them to their deaths.

Not knowing how to proceed but wanting to make her smile, Kinch added awkwardly, "For one thing, he hasn't got _half_ the legs _you've_ got."

The kind effort went almost unnoticed. The edges of Tiger's lips curved up absently, but her mind had barely registered his words. "I do not understand how it happened. How did they find out?" she asked, not expecting Kinch to answer.

"I don't know." He paused, the words of Iron Hans reverberating in his head: _He has been treated badly._ They were quickly followed by Kinch's own desperate plea: _Hold on, Colonel. I know it's a lot to ask, but **please** hold on._ Then he admitted in a whisper, "But we _will_ have to find out. Otherwise, whether we rescue the Colonel or not, the whole operation could be finished."

Tiger suddenly let out a frustrated cry, wringing her hands and looking like she would burst into tears any second. "I was selfish. Vain! It was _me_ who wanted to be the one to meet _Colonel _Hogan in Hofberg. I thought he would want to see me. I _hoped_ he would want to see me. And now, it is because of _me_ that they have taken him. If someone else had gone instead, the Gestapo would not have been looking for me there and arrested him, and he would be safe—"

"Now hang on a minute," Kinch hushed her, gently but with firmness in his voice. Tiger let him take her small white hands in his large, soft, brown ones. "Colonel Hogan _did_ want to see you. He _did_ want to be with you. Look, Marie, there are a lot of things I don't know in this world, but even _I_ can tell when a man really cares about a woman, and the Colonel really cares about _you_. A lot. I'm sure he's drawing a lot of strength _right now_ from knowing that while they think _he's_ Tiger, _you're_ being left alone." He tried to force a reassuring smile onto his face. It was hard; he believed what he was saying, but he couldn't think past what Hogan was enduring. "That's just reality," he added quietly. "It's not selfish _or_ vain."

Tiger had listened silently while Kinch said his piece, absorbing his words and the simple honesty in them. For a moment she said nothing. Then she asked, "How did you become so wise?"

Kinch's smile now was easy to come by. He shrugged. "My daddy always said, 'In this world, there are limits to where a colored man can go with his body. But there are no limits to where he can go with his mind.'"

Now Tiger found herself able to smile. "He was right," she said, nodding. "And you must be making him proud. Thank you, Sergeant."

"You're welcome," Kinch answered, relieved. He stood up and headed for the door, ready to escape this uncharacteristically intimate encounter. "Why don't you get a bit of sleep? We'll let you know if the guards start lurking around."

Tiger nodded and looked around her at Hogan's room, missing his presence so much, as Kinch closed the door behind him.

----- ----- ----- ---- ----- ----- -----

"What are you doing, Newkirk?"

Sergeant Schultz watched with interest as the Englishman stood on the common room table, fiddling with the wires in the light.

Newkirk answered while a cigarette wobbled precariously between his lips. "What does it look like, Schultzie? I'm waltzing with the Queen."

Schultz chuckled softly. "Jolly joker." He looked again closely. "Are you fixing that light?"

"Now you're catching on, mate. Those electric problems the Kommandant is having spread over here this morning," the Corporal said. "Thought I'd fix it up now, before the camp electrician gets here—save him the trouble of traipsing all over camp, right?"

"You don't have to worry about that; he is probably _traipsing_ all over Paris," the guard grumbled.

"What's that, Schultz?" asked Newkirk, pretending not to hear properly.

Schultz grunted unhappily, then repeated his remark. "I _said_, he is probably running wild around _Paris_; Corporal Mueller got a week-long pass and won't be back until the end of the week."

Newkirk hopped down off the table and pulled his cigarette out of his mouth, flicking the ash into the stove. "Oh, that's a _shame_, Schultz," he said. "It's a good thing I know what I'm doing. At least the prisoners won't have to put up with it."

"Please, Newkirk, do you think you could help the Kommandant?" Schultz asked hopefully.

"What, help _him_?" Newkirk asked incredulously. "Why should I help the ol' Bald Eagle? What's he ever done for _me_?"

Schultz's eyes turned distinctly puppy-doggish. "Please, Newkirk. Corporal Mueller is away until the end of the week, and there is no one else in camp who does electrical work, and the Kommandant, he is so _cross_ all the time now. He says he can't get anything done because his lights keep going on and off."

"I'll tell you what: I wouldn't do this for anyone else, Schultz. But since you're asking so nicely, I'll give you a hand." Schultz immediately relaxed as a smile spread across his face. "But no guarantees, now, Schultz," Newkirk warned; "I don't know how different your German electrical systems are to our fine English ones. I might make a few mistakes along the way. You'll have to be prepared for that."

"That is fine. _Fine!_ Thank you, Newkirk. The Kommandant will be so pleased. I am going to go tell him right now. When do you think you can start working?"

"As soon as I've had a chance to clean up and have lunch, Schultz," Newkirk answered. "Oh—and to eat some of that lovely, real white bread."

Schultz frowned. "What real white bread?"

Newkirk patted the broad girth of the guard's stomach as he made his way out the barracks door. "The real white bread you're gonna _get_ us, as a reward for getting you out of hot water with Klink!"

Schultz followed him, closing the door to the barracks behind him. "Oh, boy."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan stood in his cell, trying hard not to sway and fall over onto the floor. He wanted to close his eyes, but he knew that would only serve to send him hurtling toward the concrete more quickly. He was still so tired, so emotionally drained after the incident with the young man so much earlier today, and Golz knew it—which was why, Hogan figured, the German had ordered Hogan be sent back to his cell without food, without water—and without permission to lie down, or even to sit. The emotional trauma piled on top of his physical maltreatment had left Hogan weak and a bit lightheaded, and he longed to at least lean back against the wall of this small, damp room to try and regain his equilibrium. But the guard standing unblinkingly before him arrested any attempts to do so. The last time Hogan had stealthily moved himself closer to the wall and actually got a few seconds of relief, he'd been reprimanded by some brutal blows from the butt of the guard's rifle, blows that were making standing upright now almost impossible. Hogan brought his eyes down to the weapon being held comfortably in the German's hands and swallowed his need to rest. It wasn't worth getting shot over… _not yet,_ he amended through a fog.

He replayed the confrontation with the young man. Had he done something wrong? He knew he'd gotten upset watching an innocent man being used as a pawn to make him break. Perhaps in the midst of that horrible scene, Hogan had betrayed himself? No, he decided finally; he had already given Golz his papers and insisted on his identity. Golz knew Erich Stark was more than a little frustrated at his own treatment and the Gestapo's refusal to try to confirm his story. Any normal person would be afraid of what Golz was doing—and though while Stark wasn't supposed to be a "normal" person, someone who believed he had been treated unjustly for no real reason would at least be _angry_. _Let's hope that's how it came across…._

He dropped the subject, too tired to consider any more. Tired beyond fear. Tired almost beyond caring. How long had he been here? Long enough for Tiger to figure out what had happened? Long enough for his men to realize that something was terribly, horribly wrong and plan their own escape, or come up with a plan to rescue him?

_Rescue him._ The thought almost made Hogan laugh out loud. How could anyone rescue him here, so far from Stalag 13? When Major Golz didn't even see fit to check out his credentials as a member of _Abwehr_? When, even if Golz _did_ believe Hogan was Stark, that he was still convinced _Stark_ was a traitor?

He closed his eyes. His right eye was aching and his head was pounding and he just couldn't stand it any more. He felt himself losing his balance, and, suddenly dizzy, he reeled and felt his shoulder hit the cold wall that had just been behind him. Hogan rolled to let his cheek absorb the coolness, hoping it would alleviate some of what had become worse and worse pain in his face as the long hours had passed. For a couple of seconds, it actually worked, and he breathed out a low moan of relief.

And then he heard it. Hogan could picture the guard raising his gun. He could imagine him gripping the barrel tightly so he could aim the blows of the butt carefully and cause even more pain. He could even see the look of disdain on the German's face. But Hogan didn't move. He knew he was walking a very dangerous line, but he couldn't force his exhausted body to respond.

"_Rücken Sie von der Wand ab!" _the guard ordered. _Move away from the wall!_

But Hogan was spent. It was very strange to be able to hear the weapon being readied, to be able to visualize was happening only a few feet away from him, and yet to feel so detached while not being able to do anything to protect himself or shield himself from it. He said in a whispery, barely audible voice, "I'm sorry. I just… can't…"

Then, despite the knowledge that he would be punished for his disobedience, Hogan let himself slide to the floor and into a world of dreamlessness, where even the blows he knew he was about to receive could not reach him.


	6. Perseverance

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text and original characters L J Groundwater.

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"What did London have to say?" Le Beau asked, coming to stand beside Kinch, who had just taken off his headsets and was now running his hands over his face.

When Kinch lowered his hands, he let out a big sigh. "Not much," he admitted. "Find out what we can, get him out if we can. Don't risk the operation."

"And that's all?" Le Beau asked, exasperated.

Kinch nodded dejectedly. "Yeah. That's all."

Le Beau nearly exploded. "Don't they understand what is happening here? _Colonel_ Hogan is with the Gestapo—_and we cannot get to him!_"

"They know, _they know_!" Kinch burst back. "They just don't want us to take any chances."

"Well,_ I_ don't agree with them," the Frenchman countered forcefully. "I think we should take whatever chances we have to."

Kinch nodded, still staring out into space. "We just have to make sure whatever chances we take don't put the Colonel in _more_ danger than he's already in."

Le Beau considered the answer, then abruptly changed the subject. "Any word from Iron Hans?"

Kinch's mouth curved upward in a rueful smile as he shook his head regretfully. "I sure wish I had a better answer for you, Louis," he said. He looked, disheartened, at the radio. "But right now, I've got _nothing_, and it doesn't look like it's gonna change any time soon."

Le Beau pursed his lips and tried not to let his friend see how unhappy that news made him. "It is perhaps too soon," he said matter-of-factly.

"More like _too late_," Kinch insisted. He shook his head, frustrated, and turned away from the radio equipment. "Every minute the Colonel's in there facing the Gestapo, it's just…" His voice trailed off. Then, he repeated quietly: "… too late."

Le Beau let the words hang between them for a few seconds. Then he said, "Newkirk has fixed the fuse in the Kommandant's quarters. He and Carter are out breaking something else now."

Kinch offered a distracted smile, then let his eyes drift back to the radio. "I wish I could say the silence from the radio is because of the power outage…. But the simple truth is, Louis: there aren't any answers for us yet."

"What about Morrison?" asked Le Beau. The American who had for years been posing as Major Hans Teppel, _Abwehr_, could occasionally be of great help to Hogan's operation. And it was his confirmation of the Colonel's undercover identity that the men had been counting on to keep Hogan out of the mess he was currently in.

Kinch shook his head. "He wants to help. But he says asking the Gestapo where one of their men is when they aren't even supposed to know that the Gestapo _has _him would be like signing Colonel Hogan's death warrant. And he's right. If Stark is supposed to be undercover, as he says, then it wouldn't be unusual for him to be out of touch for a day or two. And no one in the Gestapo has made any sort of approach to the _Abwehr _about Captain Erich Stark." He paused, then suddenly slammed a hand down on the desk, frustrated. "_Damn_ it!" Immediately regretting the outburst, he crossed his arms tightly around him and stared at the floor.

Le Beau said nothing. He understood his friend's unhappiness. And he shared it. Eventually, he asked quietly, "What do you think happened, Kinch? Do you think someone sold Tiger out?"

Kinch ran his hands over his face, then let them fall into his lap. "I honestly don't know, Le Beau. If they had, then why did the Gestapo take the _Colonel_? Why wouldn't they have waited for Tiger?"

"You heard Iron Hans—the Gestapo thinks _le Colonel_ **_is_** Tiger."

"So wouldn't the person who sold her out have bothered to mention that Tiger's a _woman_?"

"Not necessarily," Le Beau answered. "The snake might not have had the courage to go that far."

Kinch clasped his hands and tried to keep his head together. Worrying about the Colonel wasn't going to help him. They had to find a way to get him out! But without any information on what had actually happened, their hands were tied. "Whoever it was, he went far enough."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Tell me about Tiger. You are him, aren't you? I shall find out eventually, whether you confess or not. So tell me!"

His eyes still tightly closed against the brightness of the small cell, Hogan tried to will his mind away from the excruciating pounding in his head and the burning sensation racing through the rest of his body. He panted out a groan, then simply rolled over to try and gain some relief from the cold cement floor.

He heard the metallic scraping of the bucket against the floor but could not make any move to protect himself. When the freezing water was dumped over his head, he gasped for breath and spluttered to get it out of his nose and eyes. But even those moves were slow and uncoordinated; he could not make his body move fast enough to keep up with the sounds and sensations overloading his exhausted mind.

"Tiger. Tell me about Tiger."

His eyes squeezed shut, his nose and lips still touching the cold, wet floor, Hogan whispered in a voice broken by pain the only thing his mind could connect with the question that would not give away the preciously guarded answer. "Tyger, tyger… burning… _bright_…" He breathed heavily as he heard the now-empty metal bucket clang to the floor. "In the forest… of the… _night_…"

"You will tell me about Tiger!"

But Hogan continued quoting William Blake's famous poem. "What immortal hand or eye… could frame… thy fearful… _symmetry_?" The last word of the stanza came out as a desperate breath that nearly disguised his cry of pain from the ferocious, rage-filled kick he received for his continued defiance. Now finished, he released a final moan and did not move again that night, despite the rounds of blows that followed to try and bring him back to consciousness, but which only drove him further away from it.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

The next morning, Carter and Newkirk stood casually outside the Kommandant's quarters. "You know what I miss, mate?" Newkirk asked. "I miss big, hot breakfasts. Nice cup of tea, some kippers, two wonderfully hard-boiled eggs…"

Suddenly they were startled by a great, sharp **_BANG_**, followed by a long, loud scream: _"Schuuuuultz!"_

The pair looked at each other and shrugged, then moved away from the building as though they hadn't heard a thing. "You like toast?" asked Newkirk as he took another drag of his cigarette and blew smoke out through his nose.

"Oh, yeah," Carter said, nodding his head. "Browned just enough to throw some nice crispy bacon inside and eat it before all the grease sinks into the bread."

"_Schuuuuuuultz!_ Someone is trying to _kill _me, you _Dummkopf_; where _are_ you?"

"You've gotta be careful about those toasters, though," Newkirk warned, wrapping an arm around Carter's shoulders as he tossed a casual glance back toward Klink's quarters. "You know, they can turn on you at any time."

"Yeah, that's a shame," Carter said, with the tiniest, knowing smile. His eyes sparkled with dangerous, childlike enthusiasm. "I mean, if you aren't careful, you never know _what_ the_y_'re gonna do."

"It's sad," lamented Newkirk, as he and Carter continued to ignore the din from inside Klink's quarters and pretended not to see Schultz bounding up the stairs to go inside; "you can't even trust inanimate objects any more."

Carter nodded. "You need to have a good electrician," he declared.

"That's right, Carter," Newkirk agreed. "I wonder if Klink will ever get one."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

When the door opened, Hogan awakened and realized to his discomfort that he was still lying in a small pool of water. His left temple was cold and throbbing sharply against the cement floor, and his eyes were swollen and sore, lending his visitor a slightly surreal appearance. He wanted to draw in a deep breath to give himself strength to face whatever was coming, but he could do little more than take in a shallow mouthful of air, and even that intensified the pounding in his head so much that he groaned softly and turned his head further toward the water.

"_Aufstehen_," the guard said. Then, in English: "Get up."

Even in his current state, Hogan couldn't miss the warning in the man's voice. It didn't matter if he _could_ get up or not; it was an order, not a request. He tried to rise, but his head was so heavy and his whole body ached. He got as far as propping himself up on his elbows when he had to stop; an agonizing pain was throbbing through his left side. Not seeing the floor two feet from his eyes, he struggled to breathe evenly and recover.

"_Aufstehen_," the guard repeated.

Hogan closed his eyes. He knew if he didn't obey, the guard would force him to. Still, it took all his strength to resume his movements. The guard stood by in silence as Hogan struggled to his feet, and when he was finally standing, Hogan curled into himself in deference to his sore stomach muscles. Then the German came and tugged him by the arm out of the cell.

Stumbling over his own feet, Hogan staggered down the hall and up a set of stairs, his keeper barely pausing when Hogan fell behind. At last they reached a door, on which the guard knocked, and when a voice called for them to enter, Hogan was pushed into the room ahead of the guard to stand before a desk. The door shut behind him.

Still not upright, Hogan stood silently, wincing as he tried to take in deeper breaths, taking only token note of the fact that he was not in an interrogation chamber, but in a quiet, _warm_ office. Unable to do anything else, he waited.

"_Guten morgen_, sir."

Hogan recognized Major Golz's voice without seeing his face. He said nothing.

"You are not well this morning."

A stitch of pain twisted in Hogan's side, reminding him why he preferred not to be standing up. Taking in a jagged breath, he curled deeper into his arms, which were hugging his abdomen.

"I understand," Golz said with what in any other situation could have been taken for sympathy. "Please," he added, coming around his desk and pulling a chair close to it, "sit down."

Hogan didn't like the idea of the German touching him, but he was feeling badly enough to allow Golz to gently seat him in the hard chair without much resistance. The relief was small but immediate. He closed his eyes to concentrate on pushing his pain to the back of his mind; when he opened them again, there was a glass being held before him, filled with deep brown liquid. "This might help," Golz remarked.

Hogan stared at it for a moment, then lowered his head again. "Drink it," Golz urged. "It's not poison, or truth serum, or whatever other medieval tortures you think I may be capable of."

A dozen retorts were immediately on the tip of Hogan's tongue, but he said none of them. Part of him just didn't have the strength to put up the façade.

"Go on," Golz urged. "I want to help." When Hogan still didn't move, the German shrugged and put the glass on the desk within reach of his prisoner, and moved back to his own, upholstered seat. "It has not been so easy for you, my friend."

"My name is Captain Erich Stark." The gravelly texture of Hogan's voice surprised even him. His sore stomach muscles protested the exertion of speaking. Nevertheless, he raised his head long enough to look Golz in the eye, and finished what he had to say: "If you were _my friend_, you'd believe that."

Golz offered a small smile. "Let us say for the sake of argument that I believe you. That does not change the accusations against you."

"But it might at least get me a better room." The quip slipped out before Hogan realized it. Once again, he folded into himself a bit closer; that vicious final kick last night must have broken a rib, maybe more than one.

Golz laughed softly. "I'm afraid in this situation, sir, it would not. You see, whether you are _Captain Stark_ or not, I still believe that you are, or are connected with, this _Tiger_. And so you would find yourself in the same predicament."

"My lucky day," Hogan answered dryly.

Golz chuckled again. Then he gestured toward the glass he had offered Hogan. "Come," he said; "drink this. It will help with your pain." Hogan glanced at the offering with suspicion. "It is brandy. That is all it is. Take it."

Hogan's mind immediately warned him of danger; if he drank alcohol, his defenses might drop, and even a slight weakness was too easy for the Gestapo to capitalize on. But the chance to dull some of the pain torturing his body was so, so tempting. Stiffly, as though forcing his body to obey his brain, he shook his head. He would not take the drink. He would manage, somehow.

But Golz was insistent on being a genial host. "Take the glass, sir," he said, stubbornly—disturbingly—refusing to call Hogan by a name, _any_ name. "You will drink."

"No, thanks," Hogan replied hoarsely, alarm growing within him. "I haven't eaten."

Golz shook his head. "That does not matter. Drink."

The slight touch of menace in Golz's tone told Hogan he would be wise to obey. And so, steeling himself to resist any effects of the drink, he reached out with an unsteady hand and picked up the glass.

"To your health," Golz said, smiling as though at a private joke.

Hogan frowned and slowly lifted the glass to his lips. He paused as the smell of the alcohol touched his nose, and he warned himself again about lowering his defenses—and about what might be in the brandy. Then, knowing he had little choice, he tipped the glass and took a swallow. It burned down his throat, and carved a hot, flaming path to his stomach. He stopped and waited for the heat to recede to an almost mildly pleasant warmth. He took another small sip, then downed the rest quickly. He put the glass back on the table.

"It was good?" Golz asked.

Hogan admitted to himself that it was, but he didn't say so. He just hoped it did the job he wanted it to, without any of the side effects.

"Good," Golz said, as though Hogan had answered him. He reached for a bottle on the table behind his desk and poured again. "Have another."

"One's my limit," Hogan declined. The drink hadn't been enough to help him in any lasting way. But there was no way he was going to willingly have more.

"There are no limits here," Golz said cheerfully, as though goading on a reluctant friend. "Go on. Drink! You need it, my friend." He pushed the glass in front of Hogan. "Take it."

Hogan shook his head. He didn't want it. "I said, I can't have—"

But Golz was on him immediately. His pleasant manner disappeared. "Drink it."


	7. Driven to Drink

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Text and original characters copyright L J Groundwater.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Slowly, reluctantly, Hogan reached for the glass. "Boy, you're pretty insistent when you're buying," he muttered, trying to keep the concern out of his voice. "Brandy really isn't my drink of choice."

Golz did not answer. The chill in the air was distinct, and Hogan felt the eyes of both Golz and the armed guard boring into him. He took a gulp of brandy, then stopped.

"All of it," the German commanded.

"Could we switch to white wine?" Hogan asked, hoping he was coming across as more cheeky than frightened. Large amounts of heavy alcohol on an empty stomach and a suffering body… he wasn't looking forward to the after-effects—but mainly he was worried about what he might say while heavily intoxicated and not in complete control of his faculties. He had to come up with a plan, and fast.

Golz smiled a closed-lip smile. "This is _my_ drink of choice," he replied.

An idea suddenly struck the Colonel—not one of his best, he admitted, but the only one available. "Well, then, why don't you join me," Hogan invited. He downed the rest of his drink quickly and held his glass out for more.

The closed lips parted and Golz nodded approvingly. "You like this now, yes?" he asked. He picked up the decanter and refilled Hogan's glass.

Hogan began drinking immediately. "Yes," he answered determinedly. "I like this now, yes." Another glass emptied. "You were right. I'm starting to feel better."

"Good. You see, _mein Freund_, I am not all bad."

"You could have fooled me last night," Hogan replied, leaning slightly toward a particularly sore part of his body. "Or whenever that was."

"That was… unavoidable," Golz said, not quite apologetically. "Certain things are expected of me. But you see that today I am making amends."

_Because you want me to make you my savior when it gets too hard so I'll trust you with my secrets… _Hogan nodded. "Make some more," he suggested, slamming his glass onto the desk.

Golz laughed. "Be careful, sir—you could find yourself getting drunk!" But he picked up the decanter for the fourth time.

Hogan simply smiled. _That's exactly what I want. And a bit more—I want to drink so much I pass out. As fast as possible. You're not going to get anything out of me if I can help it._ "Indulge me," he requested. Golz raised an eyebrow. "But I hate to drink alone," Hogan announced. He pulled back the glass, noting with clarity that his movements were already more awkward than usual. _Watch yourself; this is your most vulnerable time,_ he warned himself. "Drink with me."

Golz exchanged an amused glance with the guard. "Very well," he said. "I will have one glass. Just to show you I am not the monster you would like to believe I am."

"Monster?" Hogan echoed. He shook his head vehemently. His glass shook back and forth with it; some liquid spilled over the top and onto his leg. Hogan looked at it. "Oops. Sorry. Clumsy me." He looked, pie-eyed, at Golz. "No… not a monster. I can hardly feel the pain any more, thanks to you." He snorted a drunken laugh. "Unless you count any time I breathe."

Golz touched his glass to his lips. Part of Hogan noticed the Major barely took a sip. "It does not always have to be that hard," the German said. "All you have to do is tell us what we need to know."

"I have!" Hogan took a big swallow.

"Why did you get so upset when I brought that young man before you? Was he one of your partisan friends?" Golz asked suddenly.

Alarm bells sounded in Hogan's head. "I don't have _partisan friends_," he said pointedly. "I was angry that the facts about me are being ignored. I do not care to see any innocent German people hurt because of the _stubbornness_ or _stupidity_ of the Gestapo."

Golz ignored the jab. "Who is being the stubborn one here, sir? All we are after is the truth."

"I already told you that: I'm not Tiger."

Another small sip, another softly phrased question. "But you _know_ Tiger?"

Hogan shook his head. "I don't know any man named Tiger." _Gotcha._ Another swallow. Hogan felt his head spin. He rarely drank enough to make himself dizzy, much less completely drunk. Combined with his treatment over the last couple of days, he knew it wouldn't take much more before he was beyond comprehension. He stared at the glass, less than half full, and his stomach turned queasy at the thought of finishing it, and he wished he could guarantee he wouldn't let anything slip if he just got pleasantly drunk. But he couldn't, so he pushed the thought out of his mind and got back to work. He polished off the brandy. "I tol' you," he answered—_did I just slur on purpose?_ he asked himself: "I'm Capt'n Erich Stark. You c'n check with my boss in Berlin. _Gießen Sie mich jetzt ein anderes Getränk._" Hogan grinned. "See? _Ich bin Deutscher!_"

_Watch it,_ the sober part of Hogan's brain warned him. He was starting to feel very hot, and he was sweating in his still-wet, cold shirt. It felt odd to be in two completely different minds at the same time: one, clear-headed and alert; the other, tipsy and slightly out of his control. He tried to force his brain to operate on the logical side, while still sounding like he was on the drunk side. It was a task that required his full concentration, and he wasn't quite sure how well he was succeeding.

Golz laughed. _"Ja, ja, ich glaube, dass Sie deutsch sind,"_ he said, accepting Hogan's claim to be German. "But that does not rule out you being _Tiger_." He poured another glass of brandy for Hogan, taking only another small sip from his own glass.

Hogan started drinking immediately, before he had time to think about it. _"Unserem Führer!"_ he declared, glad not to be clear-headed as he claimed to toast Hitler. _Keep being German… he'll think you're starting to let your defenses down as long as you **keep being German**…._

"_Unserem Führer!"_ Golz agreed with a nod and a minute sip of brandy. He watched as Hogan guzzled the alcohol. "Tell me," he said, after a moment. Hogan sat limply in the chair across from him, his brown eyes big and wandering aimlessly across the items on the desk: "how does an important young _Abwehr_ Captain like you end up in this mess?"

Hogan smiled drunkenly and raised his head loosely toward Golz. "Hm? Oh. Well. You tell me. I mean, I was jus' out doing my job. _My duty!_ Do you know, I actually served on the Russian Front?" Hogan nodded confidentially. "_Schreckliches Geschäft. Zu viel Tod._ Too—much—death!" He took a long drink. "When I came back, I was recruited to _Abwehr_. I showed an aptitude for languages, and so they taught me _English._ I even _think_ in it now. But I am _German_," he emphasized as he drained his glass. "And I am _loyal. **Ich bin loyal!**_" He shook his head sadly. "You question me. You doubt me. That makes me sad, _Herr _Major. I never dreamed _my own people_ would question me."

Hogan stood up; he swayed, unable to stop the room from spinning around him. He was close, but not close enough. He waved his glass in front of Golz's face as he leaned on the desk to stop himself from falling over, a clear request for more.

"More to drink?" Golz clicked his tongue in sympathy. "Are you trying to forget your past?" He smiled gently. "I understand your dilemma. And I am sure you understand mine. You have information—"

"I have _no_ information!" Hogan interrupted loudly, waving his arm widely. He lost his balance, and his other hand slid across the desk, sending him plunging toward Golz. The Major stopped the descent, and, smiling tolerantly, reseated Hogan in the chair. Hogan breathed past the pain the movements caused. "I have _no_ information," he repeated morosely. "I have memories. S_chreckliche, schreckliche Erinnerungen_. It is _them_ I want to forget."

Hogan persisted in pushing his glass toward Golz. Finally, the Major relented and poured him another glass of brandy. Smaller this time, Hogan noticed through the fog descending on his brain. "Now, now," Golz said, cozying up to his captive, and returning to his side of the desk, "tell me where you come from. Tell me why you were in that _hofbräu_."

Hogan took a long drink. The fog was getting heavier. Golz was sounding further and further away. He was forgetting how to form the words he wanted to say. He had been in this room for how long—fifteen, twenty minutes? And how much had he drunk in that time? He should be close by now, so close! He made an effort to speak distinctly, that over-enunciated speech that people who are very drunk try to use to show they are clear-headed. "I was in the _hofbräu _because I wanted to have a drink and forget for awhile. Just one drink! And then I find myself confronted with a Gestapo officer who demands that I go with him, like I am some sort of common criminal! It is an outrage… and a tragedy." Hogan tried to look teary-eyed. It wasn't hard.

"I am truly sorry, dear _Freund_," Golz said sympathetically. "If what you say is true, you must _help_ us. You must help us find the _real traitor_. This partisan. This Tiger. We believed you to be him. Who would tell us such a lie?"

Hogan had asked himself a similar question dozens of times since he had been brought here. _Who betrayed us? Who betrayed Tiger?_ Now, he just shook his head. He knew Golz's sympathy was all an act. He took another drink, a longer drink. He needed to get out of this room, now.

"Tell me where you have been in the last few days. Who are the people you have met? It will be one of them that we are looking for."

Hogan had no answers for him, no answers that wouldn't betray his own people. It scared him that several people's faces had immediately popped into his mind, and that if he hadn't still had a tenuous hold on his senses, he would have immediately blurted out their names. "I just want to forget…" he moaned plaintively. "So much death…" He took the rest of the drink. His head swam. His stomach lurched. As he tried to look up at Golz, the room took a wild spin, and as he stood up, the floor tilted crazily beneath his feet. He was finally where he needed to be, and he gave in to it gratefully. "There is..." He felt himself cocking his head to be in sync with the strange angle the room was on, and broke out in a drenching sweat that chilled him to the bone, "…no…" He took a tentative step forward, and realized that somehow—how could it be possible?—he had missed the floor, "…Tiger."

Then he felt himself falling forward, and with a final thought—_Thank you, God; I made it through.—_everything went black.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Late that day, Iron Hans met the expectant looks of Hogan's men steadily, but without a smile. "I have the information you have asked for," he said. "Names, photographs, details of everything I was able to find out about the people Tiger met with when she went to Hofberg, as well as those who were not present." He shook his head. "I do not know what you will find; all of those people have been tested over and over again."

"Yes," Le Beau admitted. "But maybe if we go through them one by one…"

"I pray you get what you need. The longer Colonel Hogan stays with the Gestapo, the more dangerous it is for everyone involved. They were, of course, concerned about not meeting up with Tiger the other night. But we told them there was a delay—no explanations. They only know to remain inactive until they are told otherwise." A pause as he gathered his thoughts. He looked from one man to the next. What he had to tell them wasn't as hopeful as he knew they wanted it to be, but at least he had come to them with _something_. "There is one chance to get near him," he announced.

"What is it?" Carter asked immediately.

The Underground agent braced himself and found himself avoiding Tiger's eyes. "There is a Red Cross contingency due to travel through Düsseldorf tomorrow. Though it is unusual, they are not usually refused entry into any establishment, including Gestapo Headquarters. Someone could go in there and get information."

Newkirk wished at that moment that he had something in his hands to throw; the built-up tension in his body was begging for release. "So you're sayin' all we can do is go there and _look_?"

The agent shrugged uncomfortably. "It is the most we can hope for at this time. So far, the Gestapo has not reported the arrest of Captain Stark to anyone, not even to Berlin. But they will have to report to their superiors fairly soon."

"_If _they play by the rules," Kinch amended. Iron Hans nodded. "Which they aren't terribly well known for."

"Why doesn't the Hammelburg Gestapo call up and put a little pressure on Düsseldorf?" Carter asked.

But Newkirk already knew the answer to that one, and he shared it bitterly with the others. "Because the Düsseldorf mob have been _holding out_ on everyone—if someone rings up to push about Captain Stark, all they have to do is wonder how anyone knew they _had_ 'im, and it's all over before it even begins."

Carter nodded unhappily. "So I guess there's someone in the Red Cross group we're friends with?" he surmised.

"Not really," Iron Hans answered. "The Red Cross is here to observe and must remain neutral. But they have limited time and they cannot be everywhere at once, and so sometimes they split up. We have seen their schedule and they are not planning to go to Gestapo Headquarters. An experienced—and trusted—member of our local group has agreed to pose as a Red Cross inspector in order to get one of you inside, where you may be able to get enough information to form a plan to get Colonel Hogan out." The big man paused, then added quietly, "And perhaps you will be able to give him some hope. It is not going easy for him right now."

The softly spoken words seemed to scream through the tunnel. For a short time, no one could speak or even move.

"I will go."

The men's eyes turned almost as one to the one person who, until now, had been quiet during the entire exchange. Kinch furrowed his brow. "Tiger?"

"I want to go in as the Red Cross."

Newkirk shook his head vehemently. "Are you out of your mind—?"

But Tiger persisted. "They are not looking for me. They think they may already have Tiger. I will be safe."

Iron Hans nodded agreement. "She is right. At the moment, all their concentration is on Captain Stark. And a woman would be less of a suspect than a man."

"I'm not so sure about that—" Carter started to protest.

"And even if they were not sure that Colonel Hogan is Tiger, they would not expect that the person they are looking for would walk right into their Headquarters," Iron Hans added. "I am sorry, but though you do not approve, she is right."

Tiger nodded earnestly. "It might be noticed if one of you is missing from camp. And if one of you sees _Colonel_ Hogan in Düsseldorf, you will be tempted to try and rescue him immediately. You will not be able to walk away."

"And what about _you_?" Kinch countered. He looked straight into the Frenchwoman's eyes. "Will you be able to see what they're doing to him… and walk away?"

A dozen different encounters with the American Colonel crowded into her mind: dangerous moments, tender moments. She saw his eyes, his deep, penetrating, vulnerable eyes, and vowed, _I have been weak long enough—now I must help._ She answered softly but with conviction, "If it meant saving his life in the end… yes." _Though it would break my heart to do it._

Iron Hans finally broke the very full silence. "I'm sorry, but I will need an answer now. The real Red Cross inspections begin very early tomorrow morning. Whoever is going will need to come with me."

"Then that settles it," Tiger said simply. "None of you can get away that quickly without it being noticed. I will go. Then when I come back, we can make plans." _I will help get you out, Robert… if it's the last thing I do._


	8. Food for Thought

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Text and original characters copyright LJ Groundwater.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Before he even opened his eyes, Hogan knew he was going to throw up. It was his rebelling stomach that had woken him, and now without having the time to consider anything else, he frantically pulled himself up and looked for a bucket. Just in time he found one a few feet away from him, and he grabbed it desperately, immediately emptying the meager contents of his stomach. Then he coughed weakly and exhaustedly discarded the bucket as he sank back fully onto the floor and let his memory return.

For a few minutes, all he could do was discover all the parts of his body that were currently suffering. His head took the top spot on the list; it was pounding so hard he thought it would have to be visible to anyone who looked at him. He moaned miserably, knowing that vomiting had intensified the hurt, and that it wouldn't be the last time that happened. His stomach came in a close second. He could feel it pulsating, churning, waiting for another chance to send him panicking toward that bucket. Everything else seemed to pale in comparison to those two areas, though as he recovered from his frenzied moves upon awakening, he could feel the sharp pain radiating from his ribs that had been plaguing him since the last time he'd had a more physical encounter with his interrogators, and a few other sore spots that he had been able to ignore before now.

Memories began to trickle back into Hogan's muddled mind. _Too much death…_ The words filtered through the discordant symphony screeching in his brain. In his mind's bloodshot eye he saw Major Golz handing him a glass full of brandy. Then another one, and another. And he remembered himself trying desperately to get to the point of oblivion that would take him out of the danger zone of loose-lipped drunkenness that might betray his real identity or his operation. In that, he was sure he succeeded, though right now he was ruing the method he'd had to resort to in order to protect everyone involved.

Finally, he reluctantly considered his current location. Still sicker than he'd felt in a long, long time, at first he didn't move or even open his eyes to see what surrounded him. In the brief seconds of respite from being physically ill when he woke up, he couldn't have cared less about where he was as long as that bucket was there for him to cling to, and so he had taken no notice. Now, still not up to caring but knowing he had to, Hogan tried to force his brain, dehydrated and shrunken due to his heavy drinking, to think logically. The attempt made him nauseous, and with a despairing groan he again reached for the bucket, empty of anything to offer it but gagging nonetheless.

In time he released his white-knuckled grip on the metal pail and slumped beside it, wishing he could move away from the foul-smelling thing but unable to make himself do so. His head was throbbing so badly now he thought it would split in two, the pain radiating from his skull all the way down his face. Even the sound of his own moaning was too much for him to bear, and so he let his body down as slowly and gently as he could onto the cold cement floor, curling into a fragile ball of pain.

Cold. Cement. Floor. Hogan was back in his cell. He had no memory of getting here, nor any idea how long he'd been unconscious. But he was grateful for the almost complete darkness; even a tiny shard of light would make this horrendous pain even more unbearable, if that was possible. It was better just to lie here with his eyes closed than to try and face anything right now.

He should have known it wasn't going to happen. Footsteps in the hallway grew closer and closer until he heard a key in the lock of his door. _No. No…_

_Crrreeeeak!_ screamed the door. Hogan whimpered in pain and squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, clutching his head to try and stop his skull from exploding as the noise drilled through his brain like a railroad spike and light flooded the room. Either he had been being checked on regularly, or the sound of him vomiting had alerted the guards that he was awake. Either way, it wasn't looking very good.

"You are too early," he gasped, gritting his teeth at the pain those four words caused. _Think like you're one of them. "Bringen Sie mir Wasser, bitte."_

"_Nein,"_ came the voice of a guard. Hogan flinched as the word reverberated in the tiny room. _"Kommen."_

Breathing heavily with the exertion of every small step, Hogan made it to his feet, immediately swaying as though he would pitch back to the floor. The guard grabbed his arm, and Hogan's stomach rolled. He curled forward into himself as the nausea rose with terrible speed within him, and the guard was smart enough to let him go as he practically fell back toward the bucket.

It was the longest thirty seconds of his life. The pounding in his skull felt like it would push his eyeballs out from the inside, while his brain was replaced with a violent explosion of white-hot agony. His hands were shaking enough to rattle the bucket in his grip, he was sweating profusely, and his mouth was desert-dry and tasted disgusting. His heart felt like it was beating a mile a minute. And if he opened his eyes, he knew the room would be spinning in a circle that made everything a blur before them.

But the order came again, calmly, evenly. _"Kommen."_

Hogan held his head tightly, not ready to trust it to stay together without being clamped in place. "Please…" was all he could manage, and that sounded pathetic even as it roared past his temples.

The guard came and hauled Hogan up by the arm himself. _"Kommen."_

This time Hogan managed to keep his stomach out of his throat, but that was his only success. If the guard hadn't had a grip on him, he would have sunk back to the floor once more and happily dropped back into unconsciousness. Instead, he was pulled toward the door, where the torturous light from the hall made him groan unwillingly, and he winced considerably as he lowered his head to try and shield himself from it.

He didn't watch or take any notice as the guard led him down the corridor. Maybe they had gone up some stairs, he couldn't tell—but he ended up in a room where he was blessedly deposited in a hard chair, and he sat limply in it, gripping the arm as he tried to breathe the hurt that was now officially everywhere down to a manageable level.

Hogan heard the door open and close—too loudly, he thought painfully. He didn't dare open his eyes; the light getting through his eyelids was already sending hot pokers through his brain. It was all he could do at the moment to stop from being sick all over the desk in front of him. He had to concentrate. Concentrate. But, God, it was hard right now.

"We meet again, sir!"

Hogan shrank into himself as the voice boomed through his head. Golz would have to know how he was feeling; this was going to be the price he had to pay for getting out of his interrogation earlier—however long ago that was.

"Oh, dear, we're not looking very well right now!" the Major's voice came again, only closer, more piercing. Hogan gripped the chair a little harder. The German clicked his tongue in what Hogan knew was mock sympathy. "I thought you boys from the Russian Front could handle your alcohol." He laughed loudly and slapped Hogan on the shoulder. Hogan let out a weak cry and swallowed, determined keep his stomach where it belonged. "It appears that I was wrong."

Hogan didn't answer. _Breathe._ _In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth… Please… Oh, dear God, please…_

"I took the liberty of bringing you something to eat," Golz said cheerfully.

Both the sound of Golz's voice and the thought of food had a physical impact on Hogan. The words pierced his head sharply; the thought of eating forced bile up from his stomach and into his throat. He tried hard to swallow it. He gagged, spreading agony through his skull, down his face, across his jaw. He felt lightheaded, as though he was going to pitch forward. But he gripped the chair's arm again as he greedily gulped in fresh air, and forced his head up as he leaned back to regain his balance. He had never had such a ferocious hangover before; but then he had never had so much to drink in such a short time, after such bad treatment, and so little food, or water, or sleep.

"'m not hungry," he said feebly.

"You are so weak; you _must_ have something. I insist," Golz answered, the very cordiality of his voice telling Hogan that this encounter was about to be anything but friendly. He reached across to the side of his desk, where he picked up a plate covered with a towel.

"No, _please_," Hogan whispered. "I couldn't eat right now. Really."

"No?" asked Golz, surprised. "But this has been prepared _especially_ for you, and good food is hard to come by these days, you know." He whipped back the cloth to reveal a plate brimming with scrambled eggs, mushrooms and, to Hogan's complete horror, sardines. "You must not let it go to waste."

Hogan felt his stomach flip not once, but twice. He turned his head away, swallowing reflexively, trying to contain himself. "N-no," he gasped, closing his eyes. "Just—take it away."

"Don't be ridiculous," Golz said. His warm words were betrayed by the absolute ice in his tone. "It would be most remiss of me not to provide you with food. So you will eat." A pause. "Unless we talk."

"Talk?" Hogan automatically turned to look across the desk, but was repulsed to find the Major contentedly holding a fork full of sardine only inches from his face. He gagged again and swallowed almost obsessively in an attempt to stop himself from vomiting. He lowered his head.

"You can talk… or you can eat."

So that was it, Hogan realized. Eating as a punishment for silence. God, how ironic it was, he thought briefly. There was a period where he would have done almost anything for food. But now, he could think of nothing he wanted less. "Talk?" he repeated in a whisper.

"Yes, of course!" Golz answered. "We should talk. There is still much we need to discuss." He chuckled. "You got a little beyond speech when we last met."

"_Scheiße,"_ Hogan cursed, making the German laugh again. _German… show him you're letting down your guard by being German…. _He turned red, tired eyes toward the Major. _"Können Sie nicht sehen, dass ich krank bin?"_ he asked crossly, his voice hoarse.

Golz smiled and lowered the fork. "Of course," he said in perfect, accented English. "You're right. You are ill. Too much indulging, _mein Freund_. Now that you are not so… _off-balance_, shall we say, we might have a chance to speak properly."

"I told you everything I had to say."

Golz sighed. "This grows tedious."

"Call my superiors in Berlin," Hogan insisted again.

Golz shook his head. "We need answers first, sir. And I am quite certain that you can provide them."

"I already told you: I'm not authorized to do that. I've given you everything I can. _Call Berlin._"

Golz's words turned venomous as his eyes bored into Hogan. "Then you have nothing else to tell me. Nothing about Tiger. Or why you were in Hofberg. Or who you were meeting at that _hofbräu_. Or who you are when you are working undercover for the _Abwehr_, **_Captain Erich Stark_**."

Hogan closed his eyes and did not answer. His right eye was paining him terribly, throbbing with every pulse that punched his skull. His stomach ached, spreading fingers of suffering through the rest of his body. The light in the room was unbearable, and the smell of the food nearby. God, the food…

Something touched Hogan's lips and he was startled into opening his eyes. He regretted the sudden move, and in spite of his best efforts, he heaved when he inhaled the very close, distinct aroma of the fish. _Don't do this… **Don't.**_

But Golz persisted. "You talk… or you eat. Which do you choose?"

Knowing he had nothing left to say, Hogan lowered his head and closed his eyes.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Do you think Tiger will be okay, Pierre?" asked Le Beau.

Newkirk pursed his lips. "She's a strong lady, Louis," he answered. "But I don't like her chances, goin' into Gestapo Headquarters like that."

"Iron Hans is probably right. If _les Boches_ think they already have Tiger, they will not be looking for her as a member of the Red Cross."

"What worries _me_ is what she'll do if she gets to see the Colonel," the Englishman admitted. "She could give herself away—" Newkirk snapped his fingers. "—like that."

Le Beau shook his head. "She is strong," he repeated. "She will not do anything to put _Colonel_ Hogan at risk."

"Who sold her out, mate? _Who?_"

"That is the next piece of the puzzle. And we must start working on it soon. Iron Hans says after he brings Tiger to the Underground, he will bring all the information he can gather about the people she met in Hofberg. There has to be something there. There _has_ to."

"And we'd better find it, quick. Otherwise it'll be more than the gov'nor in trouble."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Colonel Klink stood waving his fist at Corporal Newkirk. His voice was going up in pitch as well as volume as he ranted and raved. "You promised me you would fix the electrical problems we are having, Corporal, and do you know what has happened instead?"

Newkirk stood on the opposite side of the Kommandant's desk, trying to look meek and apologetic. "What, sir?" he asked in a mumble.

"I have had _explosions_, Corporal. _Explosions!_"

"I can explain, sir—"

But Klink was on a roll. "I put on the reading lamp next to my bed—and the bulb popped with such a noise, I thought someone had tried to shoot me! I made toast—and the toaster made such odd sounds and popped the bread out with such force that I thought it would _impale_ me! My own radio made such a racket, it sounded like a fireworks display—complete with sparking lights that I thought would _burn_ me!"

Newkirk did his best to hide a satisfied smile. _Nice work, Carter. Beautiful. Harmless. Terrifying._ He cleared his throat. "Are you all right, sir?" he asked timidly.

"Of course I'm not all right!" Klink replied hotly. "My heart is beating a mile a minute; my blood pressure is sky high! Every time I go to do something as simple as turning on a light, I'm afraid it may be my last moment on earth! I want this _stopped_, Corporal Newkirk! I want it stopped _now_!"

Newkirk drew himself up a little straighter. "I'm sorry, Kommandant. I _did_ warn Schultz that your German electrical works might be a little different from what I was used to back home. I'm still working the kinks out; I think I almost have it right. Just give me another dayor two, sir. I promise I'll get it soon."

All the fire went out of Klink's tirade. "Oh, I know," he admitted, dismissing the whole matter with a wave of his hand. He sat down at his desk, deflated. "I'm just so _tired_, Corporal. Things seem to be going on and off of their own accord at all hours—do you know, last night I was woken up by my radio playing at its top volume—at one o'clock in the morning? I nearly hit the ceiling, I was so startled…. And then it turned itself off—just like _that_!" Klink shook his head. "I was trembling for half an hour. How was I supposed to go back to sleep after that?" A sigh. "Just do what you have to do—and be as quick as you can. I don't think my heart can take the excitement."

Newkirk nodded and made himself look as ingratiating as possible. "I—I will _do_, sir. You won't be disappointed in me. You'll see. I've never let my side down, sir."

Klink looked up from his self-indulgence. "But we're not _on_ the same side!" he said.

"Oh. Well. I've never let that stop me either, sir." The Englishman started saluting his way out of the office and backed into Schultz, who was on his way in. "Oh—sorry, Schultzie. I'll get right on that, Kommandant. You'll see. Just like Alexander Graham Bell, sir—I'll have it running perfectly again in no time." One more salute. "Thank you, sir. Thank you."

And he was gone. Klink sat in silence for a moment while Schultz regarded him with something akin to pity. Finally, Klink shook his head in disbelief. "With that man on the job, Schultz, I'm going to be dead within a week."

Schultz frowned, then asked, "Why is _that_, Kommandant?"

"Alexander Graham Bell invented the _telephone_."


	9. Deceptions

No ownerships of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text and original characters L J Groundwater.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan sat limply on the floor of his cell, sagging against the cold wall, and ill as he had never been before.

He felt gutted. He had vomited so many times that he was sure he'd actually expelled some of his stomach. A headache was sledgehammering his skull; he couldn't move his head an inch without excruciating pain. His vision, when there was light to be had, was sporadic and blurry in his right eye, which was still a source of stabbing agony, and it was still watering—or was that bleeding? Hogan didn't know. His left side felt like it was on fire. He was burning up, and he was freezing. He was drenched from head to foot, and he had given up wondering if it was from some brutality that he couldn't remember, or from his own sweat.

At long last, he had been left alone. Alone to speculate about what had happened to Tiger, and his men, and the operation. Alone to pray to God that someone would come and deliver him from this torture. Alone to wonder if he would get out of here alive. But he didn't do any of that. Instead, alone in his cell, he shivered, and suffered, and let his mind go blank. He couldn't think clearly if he tried.

So he didn't. He didn't do anything at all.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Tiger smoothed down her simple grey outfit, paying particular attention to the lapels and the buttons of the small jacket over the top of her blouse. She took in yet another shaking breath that was intended to calm her, but which did no such thing, and she jumped slightly when someone spoke from behind her.

"Are you all right?" Brigitta asked gently.

Tiger recovered quickly, then took one last look at her clothing and nodded. "_Oui_," she said, struggling to sound steady. "I am ready."

"Stay close by," Brigitta reminded her. She laid a hand softly on Tiger's arm. "We will see him. And he will know that we are not giving up."

Tiger could only pray it would be enough.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Take a look at this," Kinch said, waving Carter over from Hogan's bunk without his eyes leaving the paper he had spread on the desk before him.

Carter put his own papers aside and came over immediately. "What is it?"

"This stuff that Iron Hans brought. Have a look at Josef."

Carter craned his neck to see where Kinch was pointing on the sheet. He screwed up his face, then looked at Kinch, puzzled. "What's the problem?"

"He's the one who suggested that Tiger meet the Colonel out in public. Look at his history: comes out of Potsdam twelve months ago, disappears back home for a month and then comes back to Hofberg, three weeks ago."

Carter shrugged. "So? Maybe he has family back there."

"According to this, he _does_," Kinch confirmed. "So what's he doing in Hofberg?"

"What are we doing in Germany?" Carter countered. Kinch shot him an exasperated look. "You know what I mean—everyone ends up in a different place than they started at one time or another. I mean most of us do."

Kinch sighed. "Yeah, you're right," he admitted. "I'm just clutching at straws."

"Circle it," Carter suggested. "If nothing else comes up, it's something to look into."

Kinch nodded. "You find anything?" he asked.

Carter shook his head. "No."

Kinch took a pencil from the tin can on Hogan's desk and marked off the information, then tossed it back in, discouraged. "This is killing me, Andrew," he confessed. "I feel like I'm doing _nothing_ while the Colonel's out there facing God knows what."

"Have you talked to Morrison again?"

Kinch shook his head. "When Tiger comes back, we'll have something more substantial to give him. I hope. Then he'll have a better chance to make a play for the Colonel."

"I'd like to just rush in there and get him," Carter said suddenly. "Iron Hans says he's doing it rough… and… well, that scares me, Kinch." Carter let his eyes fall back to the papers on the desk. "Even a strong guy like Colonel Hogan has a breaking point."

Kinch nodded grim agreement. "He doesn't even know we know what's happened to him."

"He knows, Kinch."

"Oh, really?" the radio man answered, the bitterness he'd been wrestling with for the last two days bubbling to the surface. "How?"

"I don't know," Carter replied. "But we've been together a long time. He'll know. And he'll know we won't give up on him, either. He'll know we'll get him out, somehow."

"I hope his confidence is well-founded, Andrew. Because right now, I feel like I'm letting him down… big time."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

_Please… Please… _"_No…_"

Hogan groaned aloud in his troubled sleep, trying vainly to shield himself from the harsh blows raining upon him in his muddled nightmare, making him taste blood, and see stars, and breathe pain. He jackknifed into a sitting position as, coupled with a frightening image in his mind, a very real stitch of fire raced across his abdomen and woke him up. Miserable, and with his head still pounding, he folded into himself, not knowing how long he had been here, or when he might next see daylight. But light was the last thing he wanted now. He just wanted darkness… soothing, painless darkness.

Never regaining full consciousness, he began to mutter incoherently, answering the demons in his once-more-descending dream even before his eyes fully closed again. "_Ich kann nicht enthüllen... _There is no… _Es gibt keinen_ Tiger… No more. Please… no more…"

A small, subconscious part of him continued his desperate prayer: _Please… please, someone… save me…._

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

A loud sound like a gunshot and a shriek from the Kommandant's office had Schultz debating whether to run for cover or grab his rifle. Discretion being the better part of cowardice, he ran into the building and ducked as much of his bulk as he could behind the secretary's desk, clutching his rifle to his chest. Then he waited.

"Schultz! Where are you?—Come at _once_!"

Schultz didn't move. "_Right away_, _Herr_ Kommandant!" He waited until he was sure there were going to be no more screams—and no shooting—then slowly stood up and approached the office door. Once more, he paused.

"_Schuuuultz!"_

Letting his shoulders slump, the guard very cautiously opened the door and peered inside. "_Herr_ Kommandant?" he called hesitantly. No one answered. Schultz couldn't see anyone. He frowned and called again. "Kommandant?"

"Schultz, you idiot, get in here!"

Now completely puzzled, Schultz let the door swing fully open, and he stepped inside the office. He realized that it was darker than he would have expected, and as his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he swiveled around, but still saw no commanding officer. "Kommandant Klink?" he called. "Where are you?"

"I'm _here_, you dunderhead!"

Schultz's eyes grew both confused and suspicious. "Where… is… _here_?"

The sudden appearance of Klink from under his desk startled the big Sergeant, who jumped as his superior officer started waggling an accusing finger at him. "Why didn't you come when I called?" Klink demanded.

"I-I-I—I could not _find_ you, _Herr_ Kommandant!" Relaxing his stance, he asked, "What were you doing hiding under the desk?"

"I wasn't hiding under the desk!" Klink retorted angrily. "I was—I was looking for—" He faltered, not able to fabricate a story fast enough, then deciding he didn't have to.

"You should not look for things in the _dark_, Kommandant. It is bad for your eyes." He turned to flick the light switch near the door, but when he did, nothing happened. He flicked it on and off again. Still, no light. "_Herr_ Kommandant, you seem to have blown a bulb."

Klink gathered the dignity that had tumbled beneath the desk with him when the bulb had blown very loudly and unexpectedly, and he ordered in his most authoritative voice, "Get Corporal Newkirk over here at once!"

Schultz responded immediately. "_Jawohl_,_ Herr_ Kommandant!" Then: "Would you like me to get you another light bulb from Supply?"

_"Out!"_

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Brigitta smiled one of her most convincing smiles. "_Danke_, _Herr_ Major, for allowing us in today. I hope it isn't taking up too much of your time."

"Not at all, dear lady," Major Golz answered with a smile of his own. "You see, we are always willing to comply with the wishes of the Red Cross."

Tiger remained quiet, letting the fear that was almost a physical presence in the building envelop her. Everything was perfect on the surface—too perfect, she knew. And knowing that Colonel Hogan was somewhere in the confines of this place, being treated badly, only added to the suffocating feeling she had when she raised her eyes more than an inch off the floor.

Suddenly they were heading out of the office and down a corridor. She tried to return the encouraging smile Brigitta was offering her, reminding herself that it was imperative that she appear strong and impassive right now, and she was frightened: if they saw Robert at all while they were here, while she was feeling this despair and this fear for him, _what would she do?_

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Colonel Klink looked sternly at the prisoner before him. "Corporal Newkirk, I am going to have to pull you off this electrical job."

"Oh, _no_, Kommandant!" protested the Englishman. "Why?"

"_Why?_" Klink repeated incredulously. "Since you took over, I have been left in darkness three times, spilled my cocoa tripping over the nightstand looking for a flashlight, and nearly been burned to death when my toaster exploded! There is so much popping around this office, it sounds like someone is shooting!"

"Well, at least it gives you a chance to get acquainted with the underside of your desk, sir," Newkirk couldn't help saying in a low voice. As Klink spluttered and quaked at Schultz having spilled his secret, the Englishman fought very hard to control the smile that was twitching on his lips. Finally trusting himself enough to speak properly, he managed, "Please, Kommandant. I know I haven't been successful so far. It's just that things here are made so much differently than in England. You know how it is—I'm just feeling my way around. I'm sure I'll have it soon."

"Yes, I know _exactly_ what it's like to _feel my way around_," Klink replied through his teeth. "Thanks to you!"

"I—I'm sorry about that, sir. I promise I won't give up," Newkirk said earnestly.

"If Colonel Hogan was here, you wouldn't be so smug with me. I have half a mind to call that _Gruppenführer_ Knopf and demand that he be returned to camp immediately—just to make sure the rest of you know your places!"

Newkirk felt his chest constrict—this was exactly what they'd been trying to avoid. "Well, sir," he stammered, "that's awfully brave of you, isn't it—I mean, calling a _Gruppenführer_ over a few blown bulbs and such. I mean, what would it look like to someone like him, sir?—A Kommandant who can't control his prisoners without another prisoner to do it—it sounds a bit… well… unGerman!—sir."

Newkirk blinked, uncomfortable with his own awkward attempt at throwing Klink off balance. No wonder the heroes always left this kind of thing to Hogan! For a split second, he imagined his commanding officer standing before Klink's desk; the image quickly morphed into Hogan being tortured in a Gestapo jail; just as quickly Newkirk unhappily thought, _I'm sure you'd rather be here doing this, too._

Klink mistook the pained look on Newkirk's face as disappointment at being taken off the electrical job, and, somehow unable to let the Corporal down, and with no other electrician in the camp at the moment… "All right, Newkirk. I will give you two more days; that is when Hogan is due back. If you can't have the work done properly by then…"

"I-I _will_, sir. I will. I promise. Please, don't send for Colonel Hogan, sir—he's got a nasty temper, he has. If he finds out I've been messing up this work, he won't give me a minute's peace. Please, Kommandant—please don't—"

"All right, all right!" Klink burst, raising his hands in surrender. "I'll leave Hogan out of it. For now. But why _he_ should get out of this misery when _I_ have to suffer it, I'm sure I don't know. Just be on your way—_and try not to let anything else blow up._"

"No, sir. Thank you, sir." Newkirk bowed and scraped his way out of the office. "I won't let you down, sir."

And he was gone. Klink sat down at his desk, exhausted by the encounter. It would serve the Englander right if he called Hogan back home—that Knopf certainly seemed to be taking his time with the American anyway!—Klink shook his head, suddenly frantic. Had he really considered calling a _Gruppenführer_ and admitting that a prisoner could bring the men into line better than Klink could himself? _Klink… you are losing your mind!_

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

_The light was so bright, **too** bright. He couldn't see past it, couldn't open his eyes to see what he knew had to be coming. Desperate, he raised his arms to try and shield himself, but the strike was coming from beside him, and he caved in with a loud cry as the club made contact right above his kidney. Curling into himself, panting for breath, he tried again to see where his attacker was taking aim. But he could not, and the next blow struck the back of his neck, sending him squarely to the ground._

"_Uhhhn," Hogan moaned, as the sweat dripped off his face and onto the floor inches in front of him. He tried to rise at least to his knees, tried to ready himself for the next onslaught. But he had no strength, and he had no time, and he knew the next hit would be devastating._

_It came, this time arcing from beneath him. Unimaginable pain exploded in his jaw and rushed up his skull. He went flying backwards, his back slamming into the cold concrete floor, taking his breath away and leaving him totally defenseless. Agony shot from his spine to his neck, down to his legs, across to his shoulders. _

_**One more hit… one more hit… and I'll be… down for the count. Then maybe they'll… leave me alone…** "Tiger," he heard, above the roar of blood rushing past his temples. "You will lead us to Tiger!"_

_He tried to open his eyes. The bright light directly above him was suddenly blocked by his tormenter and the butt of the weapon he could see heading straight for his chest._

_And then, everything was black._

_Blessed, if temporary, release._

Hogan shifted stiffly, painfully, as his memories became tangled in his nightmare. He shuddered awake, and with a moan he couldn't contain realized that everything had been real. His chest throbbed and his back stung and his face hurt so much that even swallowing seemed to take him to the edge of his endurance. Though the position he woke up in was torturous, he didn't bother moving; he knew anything else would hurt just as much. And though part of him wanted to think clearly, to concentrate, to try and formulate a plan to get himself out of this mess, the temptation to simply close his eyes again and try to gather any reserves of strength that he had was too great, and so he released something between a sigh and a moan, and gave in.

To dream of his men, and of Tiger… and to try to remember how to hope.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Hey, what about this one?" Le Beau asked suddenly, rushing over to the desk where Kinch was still hunched over.

"What is it?"

"The Hunter. Look."

Kinch started reading. "He's the one who approved of Tiger meeting the Colonel at the _hofbräu_. He's been a trusted member of the Underground for a long time," he said dubiously. Then he kept reading. "Been on quite a few dangerous outings," he added with a touch of respect. Suddenly he frowned. "Hey…"

"_Oui_," Louis confirmed the unspoken discovery. "I thought so, too. And you know, Kinch, Tiger said he was not there when she met with the others; they sent him a message."

"So?"

"So he may not have been told Tiger was a woman."

"Oh, boy," the radio man said softly, shaking his head. "And Iron Hans is sure this information is right? All of it?"

Le Beau bobbed his head up and down quickly. "_Oui_. The Hunter's day job is administration for the local police department in Düsseldorf. On at least three occasions, missions the Underground were doing were disrupted by the police—and once by the Gestapo. No one was arrested, but the missions had to be scrubbed."

"That's happened to us," Kinch admitted. "But… I think we need to test this theory. And we'd better do it quick. If there's a traitor among them, the rest of the Underground group is already in way over its head."


	10. Connections

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text and original characters L J Groundwater.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Tiger thought she was doing a fairly good job of keeping her emotions—especially her revulsion—in check as she and Brigitta were escorted through the rooms inside the Düsseldorf Gestapo Headquarters. She had seen numerous offices, and rooms that appeared to be simple storage areas but which she knew to actually be chambers of torture; all her senses were on full alert, and the antiseptic smells, the tiny spots of blood that had been missed by whoever had the task of disguising them and making them sparkle gave it all away to her. Was any of that blood Robert's? Each time she went into a room where he might be being kept, she found herself trembling and tensing up, and having to remind herself to breathe.

She worked very hard not to shy away from Major Golz as he almost protectively took her by the elbow, steering her toward another hallway of closed doors. Brigitta shot her a clandestine, sympathetic look, then cleared her throat and said, "_Herr_ Major, surely the Gestapo has prisoners? This is a police unit, correct?"

Golz laughed softly. "Of course, _Fräulein_. We have many people detained here."

Brigitta smiled again. Tiger wondered how she could be so good at this when she herself was struggling so hard. "You understand it is our job to see them," Brigitta prompted, with a nod in Tiger's direction.

"That is right," Tiger finally said, to her own ears sounding somewhat hesitant. "We can see that your offices are very well looked after, but I think the Red Cross is more interested in the people."

Gold nodded at them and smiled again. "I do understand," he said accommodatingly. "Please, come this way."

After the first three cells, Tiger started to lose hope. The men inside those rooms, to her were clearly fake. They were so clean, so well-looked-after, in such good spirits. She and Brigitta were never left alone and so didn't have a chance to speak; however, they managed to communicate to each other that these men were probably soldiers—Gestapo agents, ordered to act as prisoners. This wasn't going to work, Tiger realized. They were mad to have thought the Gestapo would let them see anything of its real activities.

As they passed a cell at the end of a passageway in the basement, a long, low moan of clear suffering stopped them all in their tracks. Tiger saw Golz's mask of unflappability drop for the briefest second. He recovered so fast, she wondered if she hadn't imagined it? But the Major turned to Brigitta and Tiger, with an almost apologetic look on his face. "Ladies," he said seriously, "I must tell you, I didn't want to show you the man in this cell." Brigitta and Tiger looked at each other. "He was brought here last night, and he has not let anyone get near him; we can't even identify him."

"I'm not sure I understand," Brigitta said.

"He was found in an alleyway, brought here because it was closest—no one was willing to say they had witnessed anything. We considered moving him, but we don't want to cause him any more distress in his current condition... and who knows what danger he might still be in?" Golz sighed, an understated but dramatic sound. "I did not want to take a chance that he might react violently to your presence."

"We will bear that in mind, _Herr_ Major," Brigitta said. She nodded in the direction of the door. "Please."

With a look toward them that was intended to convey wariness, Golz separated one key on his large ring from the others, and put it in the hole in the heavy grey door. He turned it, then pulled the door open slowly, hesitantly. "You're certain?" he asked the women.

Brigitta looked at Tiger, who nodded. "Yes."

"Very well. My Sergeant here will be with us—just in case the man tries anything unexpected."

"Thank you, Major," Tiger answered. _So protective. So polite._

_So much a monster._

Two things struck Tiger immediately as she stepped into the room after the armed guard: the damp darkness, and the fear. Until now, she had thought it was all just people's imaginations, but it wasn't: _you could **smell** fear_.

She stopped just inside the door, trying to let her overloaded senses adjust. Before she could see into the gloom, another groan met her ears. It was a broken sound, one that came from deep within someone's soul, she thought. He was afraid, she said to herself again; whoever he was, he was terribly, terribly afraid.

And then suddenly she was afraid, as well. The unseen occupant of the cell let out a mournful, weak "No…" Her heart plunged through her stomach and kept falling. She didn't have to see. She knew who was in here with them. She would know the voice anywhere. This was what she had been waiting for, and dreading. She blinked harder, faster, willing her eyes to see. She was afraid Golz would make them leave before she even had a chance to get near him. Brigitta took a step in closer. Praying Golz's eyes also hadn't had time to adjust, Tiger squeezed Brigitta's arm. _It's him._

Brigitta laid her hand on top of Tiger's and the two of them moved further into the room. Tiger's nerves were alive, electric; she was feeling everything fully, nothing was getting past her now. But her concentration was directed only toward the source of that sound. She was going to see Robert Hogan. Somehow, she was going to show him that it would be okay, that he would be safe soon, that his men knew where he was and he had not been forgotten or left for dead.

Golz opened the door widely behind them, letting a shaft of light from the hallway illuminate the room more fully. Tiger's eyes quickly fell on the man who was the reason for her visit. She could not contain a gasp of horror, and sympathy. Her eyes immediately filled with tears.

Golz came up behind her. "As I said, it is most difficult," he repeated. "You can see he needs help, and yet he has resisted all attempts by us to come to his aid. Whenever he senses us near him, he is combative, and incoherent. We could, of course, physically restrain him, but we fear that may do him more harm than good."

The women did not answer. Tiger could not speak, and though a small part of her brain worried that she would give them away, she could not tear her eyes away from the man on the floor. He had _not _been found this way in an alley. He had _not_ come in last night. The Gestapo had _never _tried to help him. The lies echoed loudly in her head as she scanned Colonel Hogan's battered body, sprawled awkwardly on the cold concrete. He had no shoes, no socks, no tie, no coat. She had seen him being ushered into the Gestapo's car with all of those things, and with none of the bloody bruises she was just beginning to make out, none of the deep lines of pain that she was now finding etched on his face.

Seeing, hearing, nothing but him, she released Brigitta's arm and took a few tentative steps forward. The noise of a gun being readied jarred her senses, and she turned quickly to see the guard aiming his weapon at Hogan. She looked at Golz, who simply said, "For your protection, _Fräulein_. Just in case. Please, use care."

Tiger turned away, as though she had not even heard him, and crouched down near Hogan's head. He had suffered, she confirmed needlessly to herself. He had suffered, and was still suffering, _so much_. His eyes, though closed, did not indicate a man at rest. Hogan was trembling, the muscles in his face and neck twitching and reacting to something from within. A spasm of pain rippled through him; he grimaced and let out a small cry, twisting his body to try and escape the torment. For the first time, Tiger saw his whole face, and even as she took note of the perspiration beading on his forehead, she saw the heavy swelling near his right eye, the split lip that had crusted over with blood, the cut across his cheek, the blood on the front of his shirt. A great sadness nearly overwhelmed her, and another feeling became that much more powerful—anger.

Tiger took in a breath to try and calm herself. _Use it,_ she commanded herself. "He should at least have a blanket," she said tightly, not trusting herself to turn around. Hogan moaned, writhed again. She tried to focus herself. Hogan had to know what they were doing. But right now, it didn't seem possible. How would he be able to comprehend?

Instinctively, she reached out a badly shaking hand and touched it to Hogan's cheek. He flinched, jerked away with obviously difficulty, and let out a soft cry that nearly broke her heart. "N-nnn—" A plea for an end to the torture. Fresh perspiration soaked him. His face contorted in pain.

Tiger swallowed a sob in the shadows. "Sshhh," she soothed softly. Her voice was unsteady, but she was determined to comfort him somehow. Once more, she touched him, more lightly, further away from the long, dark bruise near his jaw line.

Hogan's head turned, but this time the resistance was less forceful, the sound of protest weaker. Tiger's eyes and heart were absorbing every inch of the Colonel's sacrifice, leaving her frozen in place, even though she wondered if it might be considered suspicious if she did not move away soon. But suddenly she had every reason to be so close.

Hogan had opened his eyes.

_Opened_ was probably too generous a description; the swelling on his face and the pain he was enduring kept his eyes more like thin slits. But she could see the dark pools, dulled as they were in his suffering, and now she took in a steadying breath, praying for her building tears to stay at bay. She wanted to hold him, to reassure him, but besides revealing to Golz her true reason for being here, any such move would probably cause Hogan even more pain. She stared into his eyes, unspeaking.

"Tell him we are from the Red Cross," came a low voice. Tiger turned her head just far enough to find Brigitta almost at her side, holding a blanket that had come from Heaven-knew-where. "Tell him why we are here, and that we want to help him," she said. "And then see if he will tell you who he is."

Tiger nodded suddenly, understanding. Yes, this was what she had to do. She could still help Robert. _If only she was sure he could hear her…_

She looked into his eyes and pleaded for comprehension. "We are here from the Red Cross," she said softly. "We want to help you. Major Golz says you were found badly beaten in an alley last night, and brought here. Do you understand?"

Hogan didn't move, not a flicker of recognition touched his face. Was it an act? Was his mind even in the room with them? Brigitta leaned down with the blanket. Tiger accepted it and the two of them unfolded it and gently laid it over Hogan's trembling body.

Beyond the thundering pain brutally beating him, Hogan could vaguely make out sounds. Were they words? He couldn't tell. He had tried to block everything out. Was someone trying to get him to confess again? While he could barely breathe, much less talk? And now… now, something was being placed on top of him. God, they were going to suffocate him! _No more—no, please, no more!_

The uncoordinated, clumsy movements and the desperate, weak cries took Tiger by surprise, and she pulled her hands back from the blanket as Hogan ineffectually tried to push it away. Suddenly, the guard was at their side and Golz was behind them. Hogan's actions were unwittingly giving credence to the German's lies. That might be a good thing, Tiger thought. But the Colonel's misinterpretation of what was happening might result in them not being able to communicate their plans to him at all.

"Perhaps… you had best move away from him, ladies."

Tiger shook her head at Golz's suggestion, and she turned back to Hogan, desperate for him to comprehend what was happening here. His movements were slowing, the blanket was now shoved aside, barely covering his legs. She didn't try to put it on him again, for fear of causing another bad reaction. "Please," she said softly. "Please. You must try to understand." She moved in closer; maybe if he could register that it was her beside him… "We are from the Red Cross. You are in Gestapo Headquarters in Düsseldorf. We want to help you. We need to know who to contact. Who are you?"

His fears slightly waning when no one tried again to smother him, Hogan let some of the tension in his almost electrically-charged body drain out. There was so much pain, in so many places. Hogan couldn't find a single part of him that didn't feel alive with raw agony. If they would only leave him alone…

But that voice. Those sounds kept coming at him. He wanted to ignore them, but one voice was insistent. It was familiar, but not because it delivered torture. This one was different. It was reassuring, gentle. _Don't listen,_ he ordered himself, near to weeping in despair; _it's another trick._

Tiger knelt above Hogan now, bringing herself to within inches of his face. She looked into his eyes, which still offered no acknowledgment or recognition. "Please try to hear me," she begged. One tear fell. It landed on Hogan's cheek, and she gently, hesitantly this time, reached out and caressed it away.

Hogan tensed again as someone touched his face, then relaxed as the soothing sensation continued and the hand paused there. It was as if someone was trying to talk to him through their fingertips. He had felt this touch before, somewhere, somehow. And the voice. Why was the voice so comforting? He ordered his fading senses to become alert, trying to see in the dim light the face of the person who was trying so hard to get his attention. The bolts of pain searing through his injured eye made it nearly impossible, but he was determined not to let go if someone was going to give him a chance at hope.

Hogan's attempt at speech was thwarted by his dry mouth and his swollen, parched lips. All that came out was an excruciating rasp.

"He is calmer now," Brigitta announced to Golz. "Maybe some water would help." She looked around the cell and saw none. She turned to Golz expectantly.

The Major stared back for a moment, then nodded toward the guard, who accepted the unspoken order and left the room. Golz pulled out his own pistol. "For your safety," he explained shortly.

"_Danke_, Major," Brigitta answered. "I suspect that may be unnecessary now."

Hogan was losing his fight to stay alert. He wanted so badly to understand what was happening around him, to know what he needed to steel himself for, or against. But a complete lack of proper treatment and a fevered chill from inside him was making him weak, and he longed to close his eyes. As he started to give in to his exhaustion, the voice he could not help but respond to floated toward him again.

"Here. Drink this."

Hogan was consumed by pain as he was gently pulled up from the floor and his head was cushioned on—on… what? Or whom? The pressure behind his tortured eye was immense and deep. His whole body felt the repercussions of the move, and he groaned tiredly, then responded with unexpected vigor as he felt something cool and wet touch his swollen lips.

"Slowly. Slowly," Tiger urged, pulling the cup back from Hogan's mouth. This was the most life she had witnessed in him since they first came in, and her flagging hope was renewed. Maybe they could get through to him after all. Holding him against herself, she could feel his body trembling, and knew that it was only her support that kept him upright. But he was fighting now, in some small way, trying to guzzle the water and regain some strength.

Hogan took a few more measured swallows. "There, that should be better," Tiger said reassuringly. Hogan's head lolled to one side on her shoulder; he was too ill to withstand much more. She laid him down again with Brigitta's help, and then tenderly drew up the blanket. This time, Hogan did not try to twist away. She looked into Hogan's distant, rapidly closing eyes, feeling that though she had helped him to cope, she had not accomplished what she came here to do. She tried once more. "Please," she said again.

Hogan tried to imagine the water drowning the flames burning through his body. _Get through this,_ he pleaded with himself, from God knew where in the recesses of his mind. More words filtered through the fire. "…from the Red Cross… help you… Who are you?"

Finally, he made a connection. The voice. The touch. The words. Could it possibly be—?

Hogan defied the piercing knife stabbing his eye and forced himself to see exactly who was here in this wretched cell with him. _Who_ was this person, promising help, invading his dreams? It could not be—and yet…

A desolate sob escaped Hogan's lips as he finally recognized the person so gently stroking his sweat-soaked hair. Tiger could see the look of once-lost hope, mixed with incredulity, in his eyes, and she said again, with more confidence in his state of mind, "We are from the Red Cross. You are in a Gestapo jail in Düsseldorf. We want to help you. Please, tell us who you are."

With his remaining strength, Hogan whispered, "_Ich bin… Kapitän Erich Stark_. I am Captain… Erich Stark. I am _Abwehr_. Please… please help me." Then, completely exhausted, Hogan fell back into nothingness.

_Robert… _Fear gripped Tiger as Hogan slipped away. She scrambled to feel for a pulse, which, to her great relief, she found. She cupped his cheek as gently as possible. Hogan did not respond, but by now she did not expect him to; she just needed to touch him, to be connected with him, to make up for what he was suffering for her, somehow. And she was shaken. His final words had left her feeling a mixture of hope and despair. He had insisted he was Captain Stark; he was maintaining his cover. But he had pleaded for help, and Tiger had known from the look in Hogan's eyes that there was no subterfuge in _those _words. She said a final prayer for deliverance, then wiped her face and with difficulty turned away from Hogan and stood up to face Brigitta. "There—now we know who he is." She looked directly at Major Golz as she continued brightly: "Thank you, Major. Now we can help him."


	11. On the Brink

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text and original characters belongs to LJ Groundwater. Thanks.

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Tiger and Brigitta rounded the corner from Gestapo Headquarters and continued their brisk, business-like pace for several blocks without speaking. Eventually, Brigitta slowed down and looked at Tiger. "I think it is safe now," she said in a low voice. They both stopped walking. "I do not think we are being followed."

Now allowed to give in to her emotions, Tiger started to cry. It had taken every ounce of her determination to leave Hogan unconscious on the cold floor and walk out of that cell. Brigitta had expertly dismissed her quietness to Golz by explaining that Tiger was a novice in inspection work and still learning, and Tiger had braced herself enough to look Golz in the eye and speak to him civilly, confidently. "Thank you for your cooperation, _Herr_ Major," she had said with a smile. "I'm sure the _Abwehr_ will be in touch soon."

Golz had smiled back, the coldness in his eyes unmistakable. "Your help has been invaluable," he had said nonetheless, in a voice deceptively sincere. "We are very grateful."

Brigitta took the Frenchwoman in her arms soothingly. "He will be proud of you, Marie," she said. "What you have done will help us to set him free."

But Tiger could only see the swelling and terrible bruising that were evidence of Hogan's awful suffering, hear his moaned plea for help, feel his fevered, trembling body. Proud of her? _For getting him into this horrible mess in the first place? _She shook her head, unable to speak.

"You will see," Brigitta insisted softly. "You will see."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Kinch met the expectant eyes of the others even before he replaced the headsets on the radio desk. "_Of course_ London's worried," he said shortly. "There's an awful lot at stake here."

"And that's it? That's all they wanted?" Newkirk asked.

Kinch paused. He wanted to say that London had finally fallen over themselves with concerns about Colonel Hogan. That regardless of what happened to the operation, Allied Headquarters wanted the American out of the hands of the enemy and back safely with his men. That Hogan was more than _just_ "Papa Bear"—that he was a man who had proven his worth and loyalty more times than anyone could count or ask for, and that that kind of man deserved unparalleled support from London.

He wanted to say that. It was what he believed. But it wasn't what he had just heard. Kinch sighed. "Yep. That's all. They want us to get the Colonel out. But they don't want the operation put at risk."

"It's _already _at risk with him in the hands of the Gestapo!" Carter declared.

"But Headquarters knows he can hold out in some pretty brutal interrogation sessions," Le Beau muttered angrily.

"Yeah—from his _previous bloody experience_," Newkirk added bitterly. "You'd think London'd reckon one go-'round with the Gestapo is enough for any man."

Kinch sighed heavily. He agreed with everything they were saying, and waiting for Tiger to come back from Düsseldorf was nearly driving him up the wall. So when London had called to "check up" on the status of Hogan's situation—without offering any kind of help or advice—the Sergeant had felt such a tightening in his chest that he thought he would have a heart attack. And nothing they had said had helped that feeling to go away.

"It is," he said. "I just hope Tiger's got good news for us when she comes back." Kinch shook himself out of his ever-darkening mood. "At least we've got Klink where we want him," he said with a shrug. "He tried calling _Gruppenf__ü__hrer _Knopf this afternoon."

"He _didn't_," Newkirk said in a disappointed voice. "He promised he'd give me more time to work out the electrical bits and bobs before he called the gov'nor back to camp."

"He didn't try to do that," Kinch said, shaking his head. "He said he was checking on the Colonel's behavior, but he really called to complain. I think he figured if he made enough noise, Knopf would get sick of hearing it and release Colonel Hogan just to shut him up."

"_That _won't do him a lot of good," Newkirk snorted.

"It didn't do him any good _at all_," Kinch answered. Nodding in Carter's direction, he added, "_Gruppenf__ührer_Knopf here told him that as long as the Third Reich needed to use people like Colonel Hogan, that they would do so, and that Klink had better watch out, or the Third Reich would be using _him_, too—as cannon fodder on the Russian Front!"

The others laughed, then the cheerfulness awkwardly faded away. "I suppose she has already left Gestapo Headquarters," Le Beau offered the uncomfortable silence.

Carter nodded. "I hope so," he said. "When are we gonna hear from her?"

"She'll travel with Brigitta back to Hammelburg before she gets in touch. We told her not to contact any of the people in the Hofberg Underground," Kinch replied.

"I don't like what we found out about the Hunter," Newkirk admitted. "It all sounds rather suspicious to me."

Le Beau nodded. "I agree. How are we going to find out if we are right?"

"I haven't thought that far ahead yet," Kinch confessed. "It's usually the Colonel who comes up with all the plans."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Le Beau handed Tiger a cup of tea made from leaves that Newkirk had volunteered as soon as the men saw her. Weary and unhappy, Tiger had made the trip back to Stalag 13, buoyed by what she had accomplished, but worn down by the images of Hogan engrained in her head. She accepted the cup with a small smile, cradling it in her lap with both hands as she thought about how to tell Hogan's men exactly what she had seen.

She looked at them, standing around her both expectantly and protectively in the tunnel. "I saw him," she said finally. How else could she begin? Let them direct the conversation; that would be easier.

"How is he?" "What did he say?" "What have they done to him?"

Tiger expected the questions, but she still wasn't prepared for them. She stared, unseeing, into her cup of tea, and tried to blink back any emotion. It wouldn't help her—or Robert—now.

Kinch noticed the impact their outbursts had had on her and suggested softly, "Hang on, fellas. Let's give her a chance to catch her breath." Tiger glanced up gratefully and put the cup on the radio desk. "Tell us what happened, Tiger," Kinch said. "Take your time."

"Brigitta and I went to Gestapo Headquarters as planned. There is a Major Golz there who seems to be in charge," she began almost formally. It was easier to talk about it if she could distance herself from all the heartrending emotions, _at least for awhile._ "He was surprisingly helpful, but then we found out why. The cells were full of people who were so cheerful and positive that we were sure they were not real prisoners, but rather Gestapo agents or soldiers who had been ordered to pretend to be prisoners!"

"Blimey," Newkirk breathed, shaking his head. "I wondered how they were gonna get away with that."

"I began to think I would not see _Colonel _Hogan at all," Tiger continued. "If this was how they were operating, they would never let me get near him. But…" She paused as the memory of seeing him for the first time lying on that floor slammed into her again. She tried to take in a deep, lungful of air; her body failed her. She looked at the hands she was kneading in her lap and continued. "But as we were passing a row of cells, we all heard this noise from behind one of the doors. Major Golz told us that he had specifically not wanted us to see the person in that cell."

"I'll bet," Le Beau interjected sullenly.

"He told us that someone had found him in an alley last night and brought him to Gestapo Headquarters because it was close, but that the man would not let anyone near him, and they did not want to distress him by restraining him so they could find out who he was and help him." Just repeating the lie had an impact on the Frenchwoman. Her voice broke. Her hands kneaded harder and faster. She could feel tears building up incredible pressure behind her eyes. But she could not give in to them; she had to get Robert's story out so they could help him. Now was not the time to weaken!

The men remained silent, taking note of her pale face, giving her time to compose herself, fearing what she was going to say but knowing she needed to say it. Tiger gulped in a breath, raised her head and stilled her hands, as though physically preparing herself. "It was _Colonel_ Hogan, of course. When we went into the room, he was unconscious on the floor." Her façade of strength failed her for a moment and her face contorted in anguish. "He had been beaten," she managed through the sob she had tried so hard to contain. Tears fell onto the hands she now had tightly fisted together.

Hogan's men looked at each other, feeling both distress at what she had said, and compassion for the pain she was in. Finally, Le Beau moved in softly and laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. Tiger fought to recover, and found she could only speak in short, almost breathless phrases as she forced herself to continue her story. "He was clearly in pain," she said, wiping her eyes with a shaking hand. "He was moaning, and when I touched him he tried to pull away." A shuddering breath. "I thought we might not be able to get him to understand anything. But he woke up, for just a few moments," she said, raising her head again, trying again to take a full breath. She blinked, determined to conquer the tears. "I told him that we were from the Red Cross, and could he tell us who he was. He said that he was Captain Erich Stark, _Abwehr_." A proud smile fought its way onto her pale face as she repeated, "He told the Red Cross that he was from _Abwehr_."

Small smiles and nods met her last words. "So now Golz knows the Red Cross will report Captain Stark's whereabouts to his superiors," Kinch concluded.

Tiger nodded, full of pride in Robert's strength, even in the most difficult circumstances. "The Major thanked us for the opportunity to do some good," she said, struck by the irony.

"You did great," Kinch praised her softly. Le Beau squeezed her shoulder again.

"That's right," Carter agreed with a nod. "Now our friend in the _Abwehr_ can make a _real_ play for the Colonel."

"And it won't be too soon for me," Newkirk added.

Tiger smiled, encouraged.

"That only leaves one problem."

The smile disappeared at once. "What is that?" Tiger asked.

"The traitor." Le Beau released his hold on Tiger and came around with the others. "If we get _Colonel_ Hogan away from the Gestapo, but the swine responsible for him being there is still free, we could all be in big trouble. Including you."

"But do you know who is responsible?" Tiger asked.

Kinch pursed his lips. "We think so. And I think I might know how to prove it."

"How?" Carter asked.

"It'll be risky, but I don't think there's anything about this whole situation that _hasn't _been."

Newkirk frowned. "What are you thinking about, Kinch?"

The radio man shook his head. "I'll have to think it through. The first thing I'm gonna do is get on the horn to Morrison. That's something I've been itching to do for too long already."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Sweat dripped off Hogan's hair and onto the floor in front of him. The two men holding him up didn't seem to notice that his knees were buckling, that he was panting painfully for breath, that he was no longer able to hold his head up. He swallowed; knives raked his throat, making him whimper in pain. It was the least of his problems at the moment, but it was so sharp that he could not ignore it.

A voice cut through the fog in Hogan's brain. "There is so little time left, Captain Stark. Surely you can tell us what we need to know."

The voice belonged to Major Golz. Hogan had been in this room for he didn't know how long. Every minute felt like ten. Every touch felt like fire. He could vaguely remember a dream he'd had—Tiger had convinced Golz that she was from the Red Cross and came to Hogan in his cell. As the German watched, she asked who he was, and to keep up the charade he had told her he was Erich Stark. She had smiled and touched him with her soft, gentle hands and reassured him that everything would be all right. But not all dreams came true, and he was here now, fighting to keep her face and those of his men in his head, instead of succumbing to the temptation to curl up and die. Where was Tiger now? Had she been caught? Had she escaped? Did Hogan's men even know where he was? Were they planning a rescue? And if they were, what chance did they really have?

"Let us go through the evening again," Golz suggested. His voice calm and almost pleasant, the Major stood before Hogan, one hand holding a thick wooden club, the other absorbing the impact of the small, rhythmic swings into it. "You were in the _hofbräu_…"

Hogan's eyelids drooped. He guessed he was expected to answer, but he wasn't game to torture his throat any more than he had to, and he wasn't sure he could string words together coherently at the moment anyway.

Golz seemed to accept the silence as confirmation and continued, unaffected. "My men came in and started asking for papers."

_Not that it did __**me**__ any good,_ Hogan thought.

"Eventually, they came to you." Golz paused.

_They __**didn't ask**__ for my papers,_ Hogan replied in his mind.

As though he had heard him, Golz added, "But your own papers were not important." A smile. "You see, it was you we were looking for all along."

This time Hogan couldn't help speaking. "Why?" he croaked. He regretted the word as he swallowed fire. Sweat rolled in streams down his face and neck.

"Our intelligence is quite good. We were expecting you," Golz said. "You and your contact."

Hogan couldn't stop himself. "I didn't meet anyone. Didn't your goons tell you that?"

Golz shrugged as Hogan coughed agonizingly and sank down further. The guards tightened their hold. "They waited as long as they could prudently. According to our information, your contact was late. So late, that they thought they might lose you. So they acted anyway. We couldn't afford to let you go."

_She wasn't late,_ Hogan thought, a glimmer of defiance sneaking in. _**There's**__ something your "quite good" intelligence got wrong._

"But it does not matter now," Golz said, almost casually. He stood up, strolled toward Hogan, slid the end of the club easily along the American's throbbing ribcage. Hogan closed his eyes, already in such pain, bracing himself for another bone-cracking blow. But this time it was the words that struck him, hard. "We have arrested the person you were to meet that night. And now we know exactly who you are."


	12. The Clock Keeps Ticking

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text and original characters L J Groundwater. Thanks.

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Hogan reacted as though he'd been physically struck. Agony ripped through him, and he felt his limbs turn to liquid. They had captured Tiger—_and they'd broken her!_ All the strength he had tried so hard to hold onto during his captivity drained away, dulling him to his pain, to his surroundings, and to Golz's next words. Hogan had stood up against everything the Gestapo had thrown at him, but this was too much to bear. He felt his heart break and fall, and his comforting dream now seemed so, so far away.

"…that it was so simple to convince your contact to speak," Hogan heard as Golz's voice faded back into his consciousness. "Clearly, you are the stubborn one of the pair."

_She wouldn't have talked easily…. They must have tortured her…. _Hogan found himself struggling to breathe. The room was spinning around him and he tried to gulp in air but it was as if there was none to be had. He could feel himself starting to lose consciousness. His eyelids fluttered, a chill rushed through him, he was sure he was going to slip through the guards' hands within seconds.

But Golz continued. "You are probably wondering what will happen now that we have arrested your contact?"

Hogan barely listened. The desperate hopes that he had never admitted to actually holding were now crushed beyond repair. There was no way out for him now, he knew, and no way out for Tiger. All that had been keeping him alive was his unacknowledged wish that somehow, somewhere, plans were being made to rescue him, and that Tiger was safe. Now, that dream was shattered. Now, he could just give in to all the despair, and all the pain, and all the fear. Now, he could lay his head down, close his eyes and die. At long last, he gave himself permission to surrender to the reality that he had fought for so long.

"We will use your contact to lead us to others. Because there is always more than one link in the chain, is there not?" Golz went on. Hogan's eyes closed. _Please, boys, if you haven't already, please get away. There's nothing left of me to rescue._ "And we will get you to finally admit to your own deeds. All the things you have done to make fools of the fine men of the Third Reich, _Tiger_."

Golz kept on with his bragging as Hogan retreated further into himself. Eventually, something in the words filtered through and suddenly revived him—Golz had referred to him as Tiger. _Him! _In his present state, it had never occurred to him before now even to consider that the Major could be simply trying to confuse him. If nothing else, Hogan knew for certain that the French Resistance leader would never have told the Gestapo that _he_ was Tiger; she would never do anything to put him in more danger—not on purpose, and never to save herself. _Golz had taken a calculated risk and **lost**_!Tiger had _not_ been apprehended. She had _not _been tortured by the Gestapo. _Golz was lying._ _Tiger was free!_

Hogan fought to hide the sudden elation in his heart. He could not let Golz know that the Major had tripped himself up with his boasting. He lifted his head, now almost oblivious to the pain reaching out to his entire body. He tried to see Golz's triumphant face through the blurry, kaleidoscope vision tormenting his burning eyes. He wanted to remember the expression on the Major's face as he prattled on and on, giving away more and more of his failure. He wanted to revel for a moment, even in secret, in the Major's glaring error. All this time, the German had played the game well—too well. Now, for once, Hogan had the upper hand, and it was more precious than the water he so longed for.

"You don't need _my_ help to make you look like fools," Hogan rasped back. The punishment was as harsh as it was swift, but it was worth it for the satisfaction that had eluded him for so long. That feeling followed him all the way into the blackness.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Yes, sir, that's right," Kinch said, nodding reassuringly to the others who were surrounding him so closely that he was nearly claustrophobic. "Yes, sir, that would be fantastic…. We'll be ready whenever you say…. I understand, sir…." A sudden frown creased the radio man's brow. "Tomorrow? But couldn't we—… Yes, sir, we _are _anxious. Yes, I know you are, too…. Yes, sir, night time is better if we're going to go out…. . Okay, Papa Bear over and out."

Kinch closed down the radio, and with some real optimism finally lighting his eyes, he said to Hogan's men, "Morrison's ready to fire. He's going to call Golz and let rip."

"But we can't go in till _tomorrow_?" Newkirk spat, upset.

Kinch nodded. "That's right; tomorrow. Look, I think we'd better trust his instincts here. Morrison's been dealing with the Krauts a lot more closely than I'd _ever_ like to. He'll make the call now… but it's late and we'll need time to prepare. Plus if he acts like he doesn't trust the Gestapo to do the right thing, they might get suspicious. Remember, he's not supposed to know that Golz is lying through his teeth to the Red Cross."

Newkirk capitulated. He was unhappy, but he had to agree with the logic. "That ruddy Kraut Major's gonna wish he'd never even _heard_ of the Red Cross," he predicted.

"That's for sure," Carter agreed, beaming. _At last!_

Le Beau nodded solemnly. "We had better be ready to move when Morrison gives us the all-clear. And we can't have Klink in the way."

"I've got just the thing for that," Kinch announced. "As long as we rescue the Colonel at night!"

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Robert Morrison of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, took a deep breath as he picked up the telephone receiver. Flexing his fingers, he prepared to dial the number that he knew would put him in contact with the Gestapo in Düsseldorf. Nearly ten years of living as a German citizen and working for the Allies from within German Intelligence ensured that nothing in his voice would give him away. Still, no matter how long he had been doing it, tangling with the Gestapo on something as delicate as the release of an Allied agent put butterflies in his stomach—and right now they were beating their wings madly. Hogan was unarguably one of the most important Allied operatives working in Germany today. He was trusted implicitly by more Underground leaders and agents than anyone Morrison had ever come across, and Allied Headquarters in London concurred with their high opinions of him. There was good reason for that, Morrison knew; in the brief encounters he had had with Hogan himself, he'd found the American flying ace as good at his work on the ground as he had been in the air. Hogan was a natural born leader—and he led by example, not by coming up with dangerous plans and then letting others take the risks.

So when someone like Hogan got caught by the Gestapo, Morrison knew he had to act as soon as he was able. Because Hogan wouldn't surrender anything to the Germans. And that meant Hogan would be suffering horrendously. Reflecting on the respect he had for the younger American officer, Morrison dialed, then waited until the phone was answered.

"This is Major Hans Teppel, _Abwehr_, in Berlin," he announced gruffly. "I must speak with Major Golz." He listened to the response, then disregarded it. "I do not care if he is _busy_. Do you think _I_ have time to spare waiting for him? I must speak with him _now._"

Morrison let himself enjoy the slight quiver in the voice of the Sergeant who had answered the telephone. _If only you knew, you poor bugger._ He waited, getting himself more into the character that he could never let slip for a second while he was anywhere outside his own home. It came more easily than he liked, sometimes. But it kept him alive, and so he accepted it with mixed feelings.

"Major Golz," he said, when someone finally spoke again on the other end of the line. "This is Major Hans Teppel…. _Ja,_ it _has_ been a long day; I am ready to head for home. But a report has just landed on my desk and I wanted to talk with you first. You have one of my men in your Headquarters: Captain Erich Stark…. We have been waiting to hear from him; he has been out of touch for too long…. Really? An alleyway? How unusual," Morrison said, trying to keep the sarcasm from his voice. _Smooth. Stay smooth._ "And did he not have any papers with him?... Oh, _ja, ja,_ I see. Well, I appreciate you looking after him for us." His voice betrayed not an ounce of his disgust when he lied, "_Ja_, I am certain you are taking care of him. Tomorrow night, two of my men will be in Düsseldorf. I will have them pick him up…. _Ja_, they will have signed orders from me. _Danke, danke, Major. Heil _Hitler"

Morrison hung up the phone, satisfied that Golz knew his time was now limited, but troubled by the knowledge that it wasn't safe for Hogan's men back at Stalag 13 to move any faster. _Hold on tight, Hogan. If I know the Gestapo, I've just guaranteed that your next twenty-four hours are going to be a living Hell._

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Golz hung up the telephone, frustrated and angry. Those meddling Red Cross inspectors. Went to the _Abwehr_ as soon as they could, didn't they? Now he had only until tomorrow night to secure a confession from the young Captain. He thought he had come close when he told the man that the Gestapo had arrested his contact. But even that had not had the impact the Major had hoped it would. Could he have gotten it wrong?

He had been relatively easy on Captain Stark until now, allowing him short periods in which to recover before trying again. Giving him a chance to see that the Gestapo could be merciful and patient. But time was slipping away now, and Captain Stark would be out of his hands soon.

_I know who you are, Stark. And I'll make you admit it before your savior Major Teppel has a chance to whisk you away. _Golz picked up the phone. "Get Stark down to Interrogation Room Three," he ordered brusquely. "I'll be there in five minutes."

_Time to pull out all the stops._

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Are you sure you've got it all covered from here?" Newkirk checked the collar of his _Abwehr_ topcoat for probably the fourth time in the last fifteen minutes. "Louis can always stay here if he needs to."

Le Beau shot his eyes up toward the ceiling of the tunnel—again—and tried to maintain his calm exterior. "Pierre. Kinch and Carter know exactly what they are doing. And so do we. You are not going to go into Gestapo Headquarters with a possible traitor alone."

"I'm only suggesting it in case Klink gets wise to what we're doing—"

"You're only suggesting it because you are nervous and you are worried that something will happen. But something will happen only if you do not have someone with you to keep you in line. So _fermez la bouche_ and let's get going." Le Beau turned to the Englishman and gave him a look of understanding. "The sooner we go, the sooner we get back with _le Colonel_. Iron Hans is waiting with the car down the road. If we don't hurry we will be late."

Kinch turned toward Tiger, who was standing nearby as the men prepared, suddenly looking so small and frail in this underground world. "Are you ready?" he asked her gently.

"_Oui_, I am ready," she answered in a voice the men were sure was meant to sound brave. It did. "I also know what to do."

"You stay out of sight until they need you," Kinch reminded her.

Tiger smiled, grateful for the care of Robert's men. "I will," she said. Then, with an almost impish grin, she added, "_Fermez la bouche_, and let me do my job, too."

Kinch chuckled softly and shook his head. "Yes, ma'am." He looked into her eyes, seeing so much of what Hogan loved in them, and so much love _for_ Hogan in them, and he prayed that the two of them would have the chance to be together again to comfort and care for each other after tonight.

Tiger smiled at him as though she knew what he was thinking, and squeezed his arm as she passed him and Carter to head up the ladder and out of camp with the others. _"Merci,"_ she murmured softly. Then she, Le Beau and Newkirk were gone.

Carter and Kinch were quiet for a moment, absorbing the finality of everything that was happening now. There was no turning back. Whatever they succeeded in—or failed at—they would have to endure the consequences. Finally, Carter cocked his head and asked, "What was that Tiger and Louis said? _Fermay-la-bush?_ What _is_ that?"

Kinch offered his friend a lopsided grin. "_Fermez la bouche_," he repeated. "Shut your mouth."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"There is the meeting place—there," Iron Hans said, pointing out a tiny house in the darkness. He shut off the car's headlights and sat back in the driver's seat. "We will not go any closer. The two of you will join up with the Underground as planned. Tiger and I will meet you at the agreed location in Düsseldorf."

"Right. Let's go, Louis," Newkirk said.

"Right."

The two of them disembarked and turned back to the vehicle. Louis pulled a spare German uniform out through the window. "Don't be late," Le Beau commanded them. He didn't think they would be; it was just something to say at this awkward moment.

Tiger understood. "You be on time, too," she replied.

"You can bet on it," Newkirk retorted. He straightened as the car pulled away, leaving the two men alone. They turned and started walking toward the house. "I feel like Daniel going into the ruddy lion's den."

"'Your God will deliver you,'" Le Beau quoted.

"Le Beau, do me a favor: don't quote the bad guys."


	13. Time's Up

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text and original characters LJ Groundwater. Thanks.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"One more time. Let us just go through it one more time."

Hogan was so tired of hearing that. He was so tired of everything. _They don't have Tiger,_ he reminded himself as Golz's words passed over his head. _They don't have Tiger._

The joy he had felt when he figured out that Golz had to be lying had long since been replaced by exhaustion and pain, and now he was simply existing, trying not to let the feeble hope he had regained once again slip from his grasp. But it was hard. More mealtimes without food that he probably couldn't have stomached anyway had left him lightheaded and dizzy. The barren desert in his throat screamed for water that was not forthcoming. His head pounded mercilessly, so loudly and painfully sometimes that it brought tears to his eyes as he balled his hands into fists to try and cope with the hurt. The knife piercing his throbbing eye sent stabs of torment down his face and across his swollen jaw. His back was killing him. His ribcage felt as though it was crumbling inside him. He could barely sit up after his last session with the Major. What did they expect him to say?

It never occurred to him to question the sudden increase in the number of and intensity of the interrogation sessions. He vaguely noticed that Golz seemed more agitated, but his brain had shut down its inquisitiveness and he concentrated solely on survival. The German asked questions; Hogan did not, or could not, answer them. Once in awhile he heard something to which he would have normally offered a strong retort. But now he couldn't even tell if he was answering out loud, or in his head. It didn't matter; the repercussions were the same either way.

Major Golz was doing his utmost to break his prisoner _right now_, and, finally believing in his heart that no one could help him in time, Hogan began to let go of his future.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

The usual recognition codes and security measures taken, Hogan's men faced the small group. "Which one of you is the Hunter?" Le Beau asked.

A simple-looking man in his thirties stepped forward. "I am."

"We have been told you know your way around Düsseldorf. Will you lead us to Gestapo Headquarters?"

The Hunter looked stunned. "Gestapo—" he began.

"Tiger has been taken prisoner," Le Beau said curtly. "We must attempt a rescue. Will you take us there?"

A pause. "_Ja._ I will."

"We have an _Abwehr_ uniform with us. You will dress like one of us."

"Of course." The man considered. "Are you certain this is the right thing to do?"

Newkirk met his eye unflinchingly. "The Gestapo is holding one of the most important people in the Resistance," he said. "Someone must try."

"Even if it means the three of us are sacrificed?"

"The person the Gestapo is holding hasn't sacrificed any of us," the Englander said pointedly. "I think we need to return some of that loyalty." Then: "Don't you?"

The Hunter looked at the three other people who had accompanied him to the meeting place and they silently held court. Then, the Hunter looked back at Le Beau and Newkirk and nodded.

"_Ja._ We agree. I will come with you."

"Good," Newkirk answered, as Le Beau started unfolding the clothing he had draped over his arm. "I was hoping you'd see it our way."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Kinch furrowed his brow as he watched his friend perform very detailed work with some wires in the common room of the barracks. "Are you sure you've got this hooked up right, Carter?"

"You betcha, boy. This is one of the best jobs I've ever done!" Carter smiled as he imagined the scene a few minutes from now at Stalag 13. "I can't wait to see Klink's face when he sees all the—oh, wait. I won't be _able_ to see his face, will I? I mean, I won't be able to see _anything_. None of us will! But I suppose that's what we want, right? For _nobody_ to be able to see _anything_."

Kinch shook his head and offered a small smile. "That's right, Carter. Everyone sees _nothing_."

Carter let out a short, sharp laugh. "Hey—we're all gonna sound like Schultz! _I see nothing!_"

Kinch laughed, relieved to be able to find some lightness on such a heavy, frightening night. "Yeah—maybe we'll be able to give _him_ lessons… when this is all over."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Tiger sat anxiously in the passenger seat of the car, staring ahead into the darkness and abhorring her lack of activity. If only she could take part in this operation—_if only she could be in that cell to help Robert when he was being rescued!_ She bit her lip, knowing that despite her wishes, she was doing the safest thing for everyone involved: for herself; for Hogan's brave men, who were walking boldly straight into Gestapo Headquarters with a man who they believed to be a traitor; for Robert himself, whose life would certainly be forfeit if the State Secret Police even _suspected_ that the Underground was trying to free him. It couldn't be helped. But she didn't have to like it.

Beside her, Iron Hans seemed to sense her disquiet, and he reached out a hand and touched her arm with surprising gentleness. "We can do nothing for the moment," he said softly. "Later on—_that_ is when you will be needed the most."

Tiger nodded, then turned back to look out through the glass. _Later on…_yes, when Robert was finally back with them. He would need care and comfort, and she would be there. She would not leave his side even for a moment. It would be the least she could do for the man who had held out against indescribable torture to protect her. It would be the least she could do for the man that she—

"Look, there they go." Iron Hans's voice interrupted her musings, as he leaned in and pointed across the street.

Tiger followed the direction of his finger and saw the indistinct outline of three figures getting out of a car and heading up the street toward Gestapo Headquarters. Squinting, she finally made out Le Beau and Newkirk. "That third man—he is the Hunter?" she asked.

Iron Hans nodded. "Yes. I hope they are wrong about him."

"So do I."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"How simple it would be if you would only tell the truth."

Hogan choked out a breath as one of Golz's ever-present guards expertly thrashed the spiked leather cat-o'-nine-tails across his bare back. He could feel his flesh being ripped away, could smell his own blood as it rolled down toward his legs. The reactive jerk of his soaking wet head sprinkled sweat in a semi-circle around him. He let out a sob that he couldn't even begin to stifle, and, not for the first time since he had been shot down and captured by the Nazis, he prayed to God to let him die before he couldn't take any more and gave everything away.

"Can you hear me, Captain Stark?" Golz was out of Hogan's line of sight. Hogan wasn't sure he'd be able to see the Major even if he hadn't been chained to a post facing the wall; his eyes were stinging from the perspiration that was pouring into them, and his right eye, injured in his first encounter with the Düsseldorf Gestapo's less genteel interrogation methods, was now useless for anything but inflicting more agony on him. "Have you an answer for me?"

Hogan lowered his head, the world buzzing around him. Golz's voice was mere background noise. The outside world had disappeared. All that existed now was pain. The sound of the whip arcing through the air made Hogan cry out without shame; he knew what was coming, and he was right to be afraid. Another crackle of fire crashed across his back and around his torso, driving him firmly to his knees. His wrists, already throbbing and bleeding, were shredded even further as his weight bore down upon them within the shackles that refused to release them. Fresh blood trickled down toward his elbows._ "Halten Sie an,"_ Hogan managed to plead in an exhausted whisper. Barely conscious of anything around him, he still clung to the one thing he knew was a key to being believed to be Stark: to reveal his "true" self by "lapsing" back into _German_._ "Halten Sie bitte an,"_ he repeated, as tears poured unbidden down his face._ Please…take me now… Please, Lord, deliver me …. _

"Who… is… Tiger?"

Once more, Hogan heard the whip being readied, and his muscles tensed automatically to cope with the blow, telegraphing swells of pain through his whole body. He wanted to stand to endure the assault, but his legs refused to obey his wishes; it was as though they were no longer connected to his brain. His breaths were tight hisses, unable to contain the cries erupting from deep within him. Hogan could feel himself touching oblivion, and another strike would very likely push him once and for all into darkness.

The attack came. Hogan's head flew back and he screamed in pain. His wrists pulled violently, vainly, against the restraints as tears and sweat gushed down his face. His heart pounded wildly, ricocheting inside him. No longer able to clench his teeth, every wild, jagged breath he took seared him with agony as his lungs expanded into his broken ribs. God, it was excruciating. _Unbearable! Please… Please, God… _Then, with his blood still roaring in his ears, the question came at him again: "Who… is… _Tiger_?"

But at last, Hogan's prayer seemed to be being answered. He had reached his breaking point; his last ounce of strength was slipping away at breakneck speed. Hearing the guard readying himself for another strike, knowing only seconds remained, Hogan forced himself to be coherent one final time, and he breathed out an answer before giving in gratefully to the merciful black whirlpool beckoning him down:

"_Ich… bin's."_

_I am._


	14. Whose Side Are You On?

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text and original characters LJ Groundwater. Thanks.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hammond closed the door to Barracks Two swiftly but quietly and announced: "He's coming."

Everyone in the hut dove under his blanket. Kinch stole a quick look above him to the bunk where Le Beau would normally be and mentally ticked one potential problem off the list. He acknowledged Monroe's presence with a nod. Then he just as quickly glanced over toward Newkirk's bunk, where Sheffield was "camping out." Carter was below him, sporting a grin that Kinch could only call, in all honesty, maniacal.

The door opened and Sergeant Schultz lumbered in. "It is time for lights out; you know that," he said, frowning because he didn't want to have to scold. But sometimes, he believed, it was better to obey the rules than to find out things he didn't want to know and potentially get himself in too deep—_way _too deep, he thought sometimes—like up to his knees in snow at the Russian Front!

As he turned away to start his regular, anti-clockwise bed check, Carter quickly stuck a hand out from under his scratchy blanket and pulled on a tiny wire. Suddenly, all the lights in the barracks went out, plunging the room into darkness.

"What are you _doing_, Newkirk?" asked the bulky guard. "I have not finished counting yet!"

"Oh, _he_ didn't do it Schultzie!" Carter intervened quickly. "It was one of those silly power outages that are always happening because Corporal Mueller's not around to fix 'em."

"Yeah, that's right," Kinch put in. "You can't blame us because the Germans can't do a good electrical job."

"I am _not_ blaming you!" Schultz protested. "Besides, it is the _Englander_ who has been doing the work, not the Germans. Now, how am I supposed to count you?—Oh, I know," he said, smugly thinking himself wise: "you will all go outside and be counted with the spotlight on you so I can see."

"That's not gonna work," Carter said, shaking his head.

"Why not?" Schultz asked.

"Take a look outside—it's dark out there, too. Everywhere. Any minute now, I bet you're gonna hear a long, loud scream from Colonel Klink's quarters, wanting you to bring him a flashlight."

Schultz shook his head in the darkness. "The screaming would be no surprise," he muttered. "You cannot take credit for that. Now, the flashlight—"

"_Schuuuuuuuuuuuuultz!"_

Schultz sighed. "See?"

"Schultz, get over here _at once_!"

Suddenly, the guard got an idea. "I will get the Kommandant a flashlight, and then I will come back here and count you with it, too."

"Bad idea, Schultz," Kinch said.

"Eh?"

"Yeah, that's pretty dumb," Carter agreed.

"What?" the German asked. "Why do you say _that_?"

"Well, when you go over to Klink's, he's gonna expect you to have done the head count already. And when he finds out you haven't even started it yet, you're gonna be in a peck of trouble."

"That's right, Schultz," confirmed Kinch.

"Don't be ridiculous," scoffed the guard. "He will know that even _I _cannot see in the dark." Schultz turned and hit the stove in the middle of the room. "_Ach!_ This _stove_ is in my _way_!" he complained loudly.

"Better the stove than a Russian tank," Kinch observed.

"_Schuuuuuuuultz!_"

A pause.

"Good luck, Schultz."

"Yeah, we'll miss ya, buddy."

Suddenly the sound of a large German shuffling awkwardly through the barracks reached the men's ears. "You are being silly," he said. Nevertheless, Carter felt a big hand push down hard on his head. "_Ein_. Carter."

Sheffield's head was next. "_Zwei_. Newkirk." Shuffle, shuffle. Monroe. "_Drei_. Le Beau." A pause. Monroe remained stock still as Schultz's hand felt around the top of his head more meticulously. "_Hmf_—you need a haircut. _Vier_. Kinchloe."

"Do I need a haircut, too, Schultz?"

"Jolly joker." The Sergeant continued pushing down on the prisoners' heads in the darkness, and then, satisfied with his count, he walked into the sink, then worked his way to the door and out into the dark camp.

Hogan's men waited a few seconds, then Kinch got up and grabbed the flashlight he had hidden under his bunk and sprang the release on the wooden frame to head downstairs to the tunnel. "We'd better get back down there," he said. "We don't know what's happened while we've been playing Duck, Duck, Goose with Schultz."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

The cell was dark, and dank, and freezing cold. There were occasional noises from the corridor, but the sounds were indistinct and muted. A door some distance away opened with a creak, and closed again with a clang.

Still, the occupant of the cell didn't move. The only sound he made was a rasping wheeze when he breathed with difficulty and incredible pain as he lay crumpled on the floor. Blood continued to ooze from some of his more horrific wounds, while other abused areas simply swelled, or discolored, or throbbed.

It didn't matter in the end. He couldn't really feel it, none of it. He had submitted to this distorted netherworld with immense relief; it was his only respite now. No one was going to help him. Unconsciousness was the beginning. Maybe now they would simply let him die.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

The Hunter stood as ordered in the doorway as Newkirk and Le Beau strode up to the desk and raised their arms in a salute to Hitler. "You have a prisoner for us," Newkirk barked at the Sergeant.

The young Gestapo man returned the salute. "I beg your pardon, _Herr __Kapitän_who do you refer to?"

"Did Major Golz not tell you?" Newkirk asked irritably. "He is expecting us!"

"I'm very sorry, sir—I just came on duty." The Sergeant fumbled with some papers on his desk. "I—did not know that anyone was coming."

"_Hmf_—typical Gestapo," Newkirk said derisively, turning to Le Beau. "Metzger, you have the papers?"

"_Ja, Herr Kapitän_._"_ Le Beau reached inside his overcoat and pulled out the documents that had been carefully crafted earlier.

Newkirk took them and practically shoved them in the Gestapo Sergeant's face. "Our orders."

The young man took them almost hesitantly. Before he even had a chance to study them, Newkirk demanded, "Look at them!"

"_Jawohl, jawohl, Herr Kapitän_._"_ The papers shook in the Sergeant's hands. Newkirk felt a single second's pity for him, but wasted no more time dwelling on the feeling. "It says here you are collecting _Kapitän_ Stark."

"That's right," Le Beau confirmed curtly. He glanced surreptitiously toward the Hunter. So far, there was no reaction. Then, challengingly, he asked the desk Sergeant, "Is there a problem with that?"

"Uh—uh—I will have to get the Major for you," the Gestapo man told them.

"It is what you should have done in the first place," Le Beau snarled as the man picked up the telephone.

As the Sergeant spoke in low tones on the phone, Newkirk and Le Beau drew themselves up to look as menacing as possible. Newkirk turned arrogantly to the Hunter and said, "This is not how we are used to being treated by the Gestapo, Weber. I suppose there is a reason the people in Düsseldorf are not in Berlin."

The Hunter allowed a small smile to creep up on his face. Le Beau and Newkirk laughed out loud, and the Underground agent then joined them. _Nervous,_ Le Beau thought, suspicious. Then he reconsidered: _But he would be an idiot not to be._

The Sergeant hung up the telephone. "Major Golz will be right down."

Hogan's men waited arms crossed and tight-lipped for the Gestapo officer to arrive. The Hunter shifted occasionally from foot to foot, eventually coming to stand beside the pair. When Golz appeared in the doorway, all three of the men tensed.

"Gentlemen," the Major greeted with a charming smile. "I am so sorry to keep you waiting. Sergeant Schmidt here was not aware that you were coming."

Newkirk raised his hand in a salute. The others followed suit. "So we have been told," he replied evenly. "You have Captain Stark?"

Golz never dropped his demeanor. "Yes, yes, we do. However, I am not certain the Captain's release would be acceptable at this time."

Newkirk felt his stomach tie itself in knots and bottom out. The glance he shot in Le Beau's direction told him the same thing had just happened to the Frenchman. "What do you mean?" Newkirk asked. "We have the papers required—Major Teppel spoke with you himself, did he not?"

Golz nodded. "_Ja_, he did. He called yesterday after the Red Cross came through here. However, there has been a development since then that puts a new light on the matter."

"What is that?" Le Beau asked, frowning.

"I am sorry to be the one to tell you this, but your Captain Stark is a traitor!"

All three men in _Abwehr_ uniform gasped. "That is ridiculous!" Le Beau spluttered. "He is one of our very finest agents."

"That may well be—but your fine agent has just confessed to being the Resistance leader known as Tiger."

For a few seconds no one spoke. Then suddenly, Le Beau burst out laughing. "And you _believed_ him? What else did he tell you? That the _Führer_ is his brother? That _Reichsmarschall_ Göring is his barber?"

"The Captain was quite convincing," Golz said thinly.

Le Beau's laughter ended abruptly. "And what did you do to make him admit to such a ridiculous proposition?" he demanded angrily.

The storm clouds gathering over Golz's brows darkened. "He admitted it freely. The Gestapo had its suspicions about him already; his confession simply confirmed them."

"And where did the Gestapo get these 'suspicions'?" Le Beau persisted. "Captain Stark had not even been in this area until the night he was magically 'found' and brought to you!"

"What are you implying?" Golz asked dangerously.

Newkirk stepped forward, placing a restraining hand on Louis's arm as he addressed Golz. "Now, now, gentlemen," he said with a small laugh. "There is no need to become confrontational." He paused, looking at both men, then said, "You will have to forgive _Leutnant_ Metzger, _Herr_ Major: he and Captain Stark have often worked together, and Metzger has become very protective of him."

Golz took in the explanation, and then, nodding brusquely, he admitted curtly, "The Gestapo received reliable information that the Underground agent known as Tiger would be at the _hofbräu _the night Captain Stark was there. We observed him for some time, and when it was necessary, we moved in."

Newkirk tried to sound relaxed as he said, "I must say, Major—your informant must be very brave. Lying to the Gestapo… And the Gestapo—lying to the _Abwehr_…"

"It was a matter of intelligence. That is something I am sure the _**Abwehr **_can understand."

Newkirk heaved a sigh as though resigned to the fact that intelligence often took precedence over truth. He shook his head ruefully. "_Ja. Ja, Herr_ Major. But truly, Captain Stark is no more a member of the Resistance than I am. Someone is playing a joke on you."

"It is not a joke."

All eyes turned to the Hunter. Raising his chin, the man who had been silent during this whole encounter finally spoke up. "Major Golz, Tiger _was_ at the _hofbräu_ that night. I know, because I authorized it. And then," he added, looking at Newkirk and Le Beau, "I phoned the Gestapo." His eyes moved back to Golz. "I am the Hunter, Major Golz. My name is known by your Headquarters here. These two men, _Herr_ Major, are not from the _Abwehr_. They are imposters."


	15. Bluffing the Bluffer

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, storyline and original characters L J Groundwater.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Boy, I'm getting _nervous_," Carter admitted after a few minutes of non-stop twitching and pacing. "How come nobody's called yet?"

"These things take time, Carter. They're not gonna call us until they're either completely finished—or something goes horribly wrong."

"Well, I know one thing I'm gonna hate."

Kinch raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "What's that?"

"Not knowing which kind of call we're getting until after we've already answered."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

One side of Le Beau's lips rose up in a humorless smile. "We are quite aware that you have been an informant for the Gestapo," he said.

"That is correct," Newkirk agreed. He turned to Golz. "But not everything he says is quite accurate, _Herr_ Major. For instance, you may imply from what he said that you are actually holding Tiger. But let me assure you that we have Tiger ourselves, right in this room."

"What do you mean by that?" the Hunter burst.

"You say you told Major Golz that Tiger was at the _hofbräu _the night Captain Stark was arrested. Why don't you admit that you set him up to divert attention away from yourself?"

"_What?_" the Hunter spluttered. "That is absurd!"

"Is it?" Le Beau questioned. "No more absurd than a fine man like Captain Stark being falsely accused—and falsely held by the Gestapo."

Golz shook his head. "If this man is the person he claims to be, he has telephoned with information more than once—and it has always been correct," Golz said, nodding to Sergeant Schmidt, who pulled a gun out of his drawer and leveled it carefully at Le Beau and Newkirk. "Perhaps we shall have to investigate his latest information more closely as well."

Le Beau shook his head. "To make a mistake once is human. To make it twice is stupidity. You have our papers. You have spoken with Major Teppel in Berlin yourself."

"We also have Stark's own confession," Golz reminded them.

Newkirk dismissed the fact. "The desperate admission of a man taken beyond his endurance," he concluded, feeling the sting of the truth in his words. "The Gestapo's methods of interrogation are well-known, even in the _Abwehr_. I presume I would be correct in saying that Captain Stark is now not in quite the condition he was in when the Red Cross was here?"

Golz admitted it with a small nod of his head. "No one forced him to speak. And our source was reliable."

"Was he? This man has made one big mistake, _Herr_ Major," Le Beau announced, nodding toward the Hunter: "he did not know that he was not the only one working undercover." He stared hard into the Hunter's eyes, then looked back at Golz. "Major Teppel tells us that _Kapitän _Stark did not tell you about his mission."

"That is correct."

"_I_ will tell you now what it was. Erich Stark was working with me and with _Kapitän _Ritter here to find out who was trying to destroy German Intelligence from the inside. For months now, we have infiltrated pockets of resistance, little by little. And we were finally closing in on our prize: this man." Le Beau pointed at the Hunter. "We have quite a dossier on him. Of course, he is a clean-living German citizen by day. He works for the local police, doing administrative work. With access to as much information as he needed—to feed false information to the Gestapo."

The Hunter exclaimed, "That is a lie!"

"He has been involved in several police and Gestapo raids on what were supposedly local partisan groups—in all of them, no one was arrested. Is that because the partisans are so much cleverer than the Gestapo?" Le Beau looked at Newkirk, who shook his head once decisively, and then back to Golz. "Not at all. It is because he _planned _it that way. A waste of time and resources, and, eventually, a way to pit us against each other."

"This is ridiculous! Do not listen to him!"

Le Beau moved in close and gripped the Hunter's arm tightly, until the man winced. "_This_ is the Resistance leader called Tiger," he claimed. "We brought him here tonight, hoping he would give his game away. And he has." He looked into the Hunter's eyes, genuine hatred oozing out of him. "He is the scum of the earth," Le Beau hissed, "and he will stop at nothing to see the Third Reich crumble from the inside out." He released his grip with a small shove.

The room remained in stunned silence for a few seconds as the accusations reverberated off the walls. Golz stood mutely weighing all the arguments, while Newkirk and Le Beau glared at the Hunter, trying to show anger where there was actually fear. Finally, Golz turned to Schmidt and ordered, "Get Major Teppel on the line in Berlin."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"They are taking too long. They should be back by now," Tiger fretted softly as she continued to watch the street for signs of Hogan's men.

"These things take time," Iron Hans answered matter-of-factly. "If they appear to be in a hurry, they could arouse suspicions. It has not been terribly long."

"No," Tiger said, shaking her head. "Something has gone wrong. It is not right. They would be back." Images of Robert lying in that cell filled her head and brought tears unwillingly to her eyes. "Something has happened."

The big German now turned fully to Tiger, and she felt compelled to look at him, though from within, her eyes could only see the man for whose release she was so anxiously waiting. "What is happening is what needs to happen for Colonel Hogan's men to get him out. I know you are worried." Tiger lowered her eyes. Once again Iron Hans touched her arm comfortingly. "You know the Colonel is not well and you are apprehensive about his condition. But his men will not leave that building without him. You know that, and I know that. And so we must give them time to do their jobs. Worrying will not help them. Or you."

Drawing in a breath, Tiger nodded acceptance. Then she turned her face up toward her companion and smiled her thanks through tear-filled eyes. Robert would be free soon. _He had to be._

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Sir," Sergeant Schmidt called softly, holding out the telephone. "Major Teppel."

Golz took the receiver. "Major Teppel, _guten abend_," he greeted. "Yes, I have your men here... No, we have not released _Kapitän_ Stark yet. I regret to say, Major, that there has been a bit of a complication here and—" Golz cut off as he was clearly interrupted rather forcibly from the other end. "No, of course I am not questioning the integrity of you _or_ your men. It is just that—" Golz frowned as he listened intently. "I see." He looked through narrowed eyes at the Hunter. "I see," he said again with a nod. "_Jawohl, _Major… _Ja_, I understand. _Danke_, Major Teppel. _Ja_, _danke. Danke. Heil _Hitler."

The officer handed the phone back to Schmidt and turned to the men before him. "My regrets, gentlemen," he said, bowing his head slightly. "It seems I have done the _Abwehr_ a great disservice. Major Teppel confirms everything you have said, including your work in trying to expose the _real_ Tiger." His eyes shot to the Hunter, who had been slowly backing himself toward the door.

The Hunter spoke up immediately. "Major, they are lying! You know I have given the Gestapo much valuable information in the past!"

"Yes, but how much of it actually resulted in any arrests? How many Resistance groups were disbanded?" Golz shook his head slowly. "None, my friend."

"I can prove it! I can lead you to the Underground in Hofberg—they are the ones who organized for Tiger to go to the _hofbräu_ that night!"

"They will no longer exist," Newkirk countered flatly. "They would have been gone before you even came here tonight. If they ever existed at all."

"I have done my duty as a loyal German!" the Hunter protested.

"You have served only yourself!" Le Beau spat back.

Golz's eyes bored through the Hunter. "You are under arrest as a spy and a traitor. The Gestapo will have much to learn from you—and this time, _we will get the truth_."

The Hunter's eyes widened in horror as Sergeant Schmidt stood and picked up his gun. "It is all a lie—_it is a lie!_"

"There have been many lies," Golz replied.

"You cannot do this! I am loyal!"

"Loyal to whom?"

Golz nodded to Schmidt, who came out from around his desk and advanced on the exposed agent. The Hunter shook his head in fright and disbelief before turning on his heel and bolting out the door.

Schmidt burst out after him, with Golz right behind him. Newkirk and Le Beau went out into the corridor as they heard shouts ordering the Hunter to stop, shots being fired, stairs being climbed with frantic speed, and finally a voice crying, _"Halt! Halt!"_ followed by a single gunshot, and the sound of a body hitting the ground.

Silence was followed by echoing footsteps, then Schmidt appeared from around the corner. "He is dead," he said to Le Beau and Newkirk. "Tiger is dead."

Hogan's men nodded mutely. Golz came into view and approached them. "It is over. Of course, we will release Captain Stark to you immediately." For the first time since Hogan's men had encountered him, Golz faltered, just slightly. "He will need… medical attention." He shook his head. "I do not know how I am going to explain this to Berlin."

"You'd better start by explaining it to Major Teppel," Newkirk replied. "Take us to Captain Stark, _bitte_."

Golz nodded and led Le Beau and Newkirk down the corridor and then down some steps to a row of locked, grey doors. Hogan's men looked at each other uneasily as the German stopped at the very last cell in the hall and hesitated before drawing up the key to open it.

"He did not have to confess," Golz said awkwardly.

Le Beau swallowed hard. "Just open the door."

Golz turned the key in the lock and pulled open the heavy door. A damp smell floated out to them from the darkness of the cell. Newkirk and Le Beau braced themselves as the trio stepped inside. Then Golz flicked a switch, and a bare bulb above them illuminated the area.

Hogan's men immediately wished it hadn't. At the sight of the Colonel, Le Beau felt his stomach knot and then jump, and closing his eyes, he turned away with a hand raised to his mouth to stop himself from being physically sick, and the Frenchman hated himself for wishing fleetingly that he had taken the opportunity to stay behind when Newkirk had suggested it back in camp. For Newkirk's part, it was good that the Englishman was too stunned to speak; he would have sworn a Cockney oath that would have given them both away. But unlike Le Beau, he couldn't take his eyes off the man who had clearly been dropped on the floor and abandoned to his fate, however horrible—and torturously slow—that might be.

Newkirk moved in closer to Hogan. Was he even breathing? The Englishman listened. At first he wasn't sure. Then he heard a barely audible wheeze, a sound filled with suffering, and when he looked past the terrible swelling and multi-colored bruises, he saw Hogan's face contorted with pain. Then as quickly as the expression had appeared, it was gone. "He's—" Newkirk stopped to swallow. He didn't want to join Le Beau in the doorway, gulping in as much fresh air as possible. "He needs help."

Golz nodded solemnly. "I will call for an ambulance immediately."

Newkirk watched the German leave the cell, then turned back to kneel beside Hogan. He felt the rare heat of tears behind his eyes as he let his gaze run the length of the Colonel's body. There was blood, there was bruising, there was raw, broken skin. With a quivering hand, Newkirk gently lifted Hogan's dress shirt—a joke of a name considering the condition it was now in, having been tossed over the American as an apparent afterthought—and flinched as dried blood dragged shredded flesh with it. The Englishman dropped the shirt as though it had burned him.

Le Beau, meanwhile, had turned back once Golz left the cell, and now he was standing above Newkirk, still not able to look directly at Hogan's face, but letting his eyes stare, unfocused, at the officer's unmoving body. "This is bad," he said in a whisper.

"_Real_ bad, Louis," Newkirk agreed. "We got him out, all right—but we might still be too late."


	16. Endurance

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Text, original characters, and storyline are copyright L J Groundwater. Thanks.

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Le Beau walked up to the car and got into the back seat without stopping to look around. "Drive," he said curtly, already starting to unbutton his _Abwehr_ coat. Iron Hans pulled the vehicle away from the curb.

"What has happened?" Tiger asked without turning around. "Where are the others?" _Where is Robert?_

"Newkirk is with _Colonel_ Hogan." Le Beau waited until their car was on a long, deserted road before he spoke again. "Pull over."

With a nod, Iron Hans did as he was bid. Then he and Tiger both turned toward the Frenchman. "What happened?" Iron Hans asked. "Where is Colonel Hogan?"

"The Hunter was a traitor," Le Beau replied. Tiger gasped. "Now he is dead."

"_Dead?_" Iron Hans shook his head. "Start from the beginning, _bitte._"

"We went into Gestapo Headquarters and asked for Captain Stark." Le Beau nodded toward Tiger. "Your Major Golz was there—he told us Stark was a traitor. That he had admitted to being Tiger."

Tiger's eyes widened. "_What?_"

Le Beau said with some difficulty, "They tortured him. Newkirk and I believe _le Colonel_ may have told them that to stop them, at least for awhile."

Tiger's eyes misted over. She could barely speak as she asked, "And… how is he?"

Le Beau shook his head. His eyes were as moist as Tiger's. He admitted grimly, "Not good. _Le Colonel_ is on his way to the hospital. Golz organized it."

"Golz?" Iron Hans repeated incredulously.

"_Oui_. The Hunter told him that we were imposters—that he had authorized the meeting at the _hofbräu_ and then called the Gestapo to tell them about it."

"That's right," Tiger confirmed; "they checked everything through him." She shook her head in dismay. "They had no idea. They said he was so genuine, so passionate..."

Le Beau pursed his lips. "We told Golz that we were working with Stark undercover to catch Tiger ourselves. Golz called Berlin and confirmed our story with our contact in the _Abwehr_, including that we believed the Hunter was the real Tiger. After that, it was all over for our traitor. He tried to run away, and he was shot. _Au revoir, Monsieur le démon_," he concluded bitterly.

Iron Hans shook his head. It was a tragic situation all around. "But now Colonel Hogan is free," he said, determined to look at things optimistically.

"_Oui_," Le Beau agreed. He paused. "But it is not good." Another pause as his mind unwillingly took him back to the cell. He ran a hand wearily over his face; this long night seemed endless. He wanted to say more—he owed it to them to put them in the picture. But he found he could not, and he merely wiped at his eyes, and shook his head.

Iron Hans understood. "He is being taken to the hospital in Düsseldorf?" he prompted softly.

"No," Le Beau replied, grateful for the gentle nudge. "Newkirk convinced Golz that _le Colonel_ should be kept out of Düsseldorf. In case any of Tiger's friends try to seek revenge on _Capitaine_ Stark." He looked at the real Tiger, whose eyes were full of worry. _She is so tired,_ he noticed compassionately. "He will go to Hammelburg."

Tiger closed her eyes, relieved. Robert would be close to Stalag 13; his men would be able to be close to him—and they would be able to watch out for him.

"It will not be easy," Iron Hans declared. Tiger looked at him, concerned. "He will have to continue to be Captain Stark as long as he is being treated."

"That is true," Le Beau confirmed. "But he needs more treatment than we can get for him at Stalag 13, and even Klink would have a hard time believing that _Colonel_ Hogan's condition was anything less than a full working-over by those Gestapo monsters."

Tiger finally looked Le Beau straight in the eye and asked what he had only been hinting at ever since he had joined them. "Corporal Le Beau," she began, as strongly as she could manage, "will _Colonel_ Hogan be all right?"

Le Beau looked back into Tiger's eyes and saw past the bravery to the fear behind it. And though he wanted to say the words that would make her feel better, that would bring her some peace of mind, he could not bring himself to lie. And so he let his eyes convey his own hopelessness as he answered honestly. "I don't know."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Thanks… Yeah, thanks. He'll be along as fast as he can…. Right… Papa Bear over and out." Kinch put down the headsets and switched off the radio, sporting a look that Carter had hoped to be relief, but which instead seemed just as worried as when he had answered the call.

"What's going on, Kinch? Where are they?" Carter asked.

"They got Colonel Hogan out. And we were right—the Hunter was the one who sold Tiger out. They've contacted the Hofberg Underground to break the news."

"Wow," Carter breathed. "So what happened?"

"Iron Hans says the Hunter was killed at Gestapo Headquarters when Le Beau and Newkirk made the Gestapo officer believe that _the Hunter_ was Tiger." The radio operator shook his head, still trying to put all the pieces together himself. "Once they got that out of the way, the Gestapo was happy to let Captain Stark go."

"Boy, I'd have loved to have seen the look on Major Golz's face when he figured out that—" Carter cut himself off when he didn't see Kinch's expression lighten. "What is it, Kinch?" The tunnel seemed to spin around him as he began to imagine all the horrible possible reasons for Kinch's continued grimness. "Is everybody okay, Kinch?" Kinch couldn't answer right away. Carter began to panic. "Kinch, where's the Colonel?"

"He's with Newkirk," Kinch answered tightly. "They're on their way to the hospital in Hammelburg."

"The hospital?" Carter gulped. "Kinch, what happened? Did someone get shot?"

"No," Kinch answered, shaking his head. He closed his eyes for a second and forced himself to think more clearly. He was wrapped up in his own emotions at the moment—and that was only making things worse for himself, and for Carter. He breathed out a big sigh and opened his eyes. "No one's been shot," he said finally, calmly. "The Gestapo worked the Colonel over real bad. He needs hospital treatment, and the fellas convinced Major Golz that Captain Stark would be better off in Hammelburg than Düsseldorf."

"How'd they do that?"

Another sigh, not one of impatience, but rather, of weariness. "Apparently, Colonel Hogan told the Gestapo he was Tiger."

Carter's eyes widened in disbelief. "He told them _what_? _Why?_"

Kinch shrugged. "From the sound of it, the Gestapo took him to the absolute edge of his endurance, and when he was afraid he'd give everything away, he must have made something up that he hoped they'd believe long enough to…" His voice trailed off.

Carter paused uncomfortably, then finished the thought in a whisper: "…to stop hurting him… or to finally kill him."

Kinch looked down at his hands. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Anyway," he said a little louder, "the fellas told Golz that the local Underground might try to get retribution against Captain Stark, so they're moving him. They're gonna need you at the hospital after they get there. Since the Colonel's gonna need to keep pretending to be Captain Stark, Newkirk and Le Beau thought it might be helpful if there was a representative of the _Abwehr_ there to help reinforce the idea that other people need to be kept away from him. The Colonel's frame of mind won't be the best for awhile."

"Oh—sure," Carter agreed, nodding. "Aren't you gonna come, Kinch?"

Kinch shook his head somberly. "No."

"Well, why not? You've gotta come see the Colonel—he _needs_ you!"

"Carter," answered Kinch, a little more strongly than he intended, "_I can't_."

"Of course you can; someone else can look after the radio—and we'll be back in plenty of time before morning roll call to be worried about the lights coming back on!"

"That's not the problem, Carter."

"Then what is it?"

"I'm not gonna be able to see the Colonel until he's back in camp._ There's no room in Germany for a colored man._"

Carter's mouth had been open and readywith a reply, but the reminder from his friend cut him abruptly short. "You could… come anyway," Carter mumbled, feeling shame not at his own naïveté, but at the state of a world that couldn't accept the simple goodness of a man like James Kinchloe, regardless of his skin color. "You could… wait outside. I'm sure the Colonel would want to know you're nearby."

Kinch tried to smile for Carter's benefit. "Thanks, pal. But I can do more here than I can sitting outside a hospital in a car or a bush." He frowned. "Besides, from the sound of it, the Colonel's not gonna know _anyone's_ nearby—not even if they're sitting right next to him."

Carter's brow furrowed with worry. "He's that bad off, huh?"

Kinch nodded. "Yeah." Another deep breath. "You'd better get going. Go on upstairs and tell Monroe we're gonna need another person to fill your bunk till the morning."

"Right, Kinch." Carter paused as he continued trying to think of a real solution. "Maybe we can sneak you in at some stage," he proposed weakly.

"Maybe."

Carter smiled faintly at his friend and headed up the ladder into the darkness, leaving Kinch down below. The radio operator watched him disappear, then looked back at his hands, staring long and hard at the color of them, before balling them into fists and trying to contain the anger he felt bubbling within him. What good was it being accepted by a man like Colonel Hogan, and by others like Carter, Newkirk and Le Beau, when he could do nothing to help them when they needed him the most?


	17. Memories

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Text, storyline and original characters are all copyright L J Groundwater. Thanks.

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Newkirk wiped his brow tiredly and sat down in the hard chair in the waiting area of the hospital. Hogan had been taken away for care well nearly two hours ago, and even after his seventh cigarette, the Englishman still felt on edge. The trip from Düsseldorf in the ambulance had been heartrending. Alone in the back of the vehicle with Hogan, Newkirk had been unable to get the Colonel to understand what was happening, or even to wake up. The only thing Hogan seemed to connect with was pain. When they started off, every bump, every pothole, had been met with some sort of broken, agonized sound that Newkirk actually took comfort in hearing. It was when Hogan fell into complete silence and non-responsiveness that Newkirk refocused himself enough to pray more fervently than he could remember doing in years.

_Le Beau should be coming soon._ Newkirk wondered how he had fared with Tiger and Iron Hans. He'd been right in the tunnel earlier that night—now feeling like weeks ago—Louis shouldn't have come. Oh, he'd been great with Golz, explaining away the Hunter's accusations, showing just the right amount of disgust for the traitor—though Newkirk knew that the hatred wasn't at all feigned. But when they got to Hogan's cell, even the Englishman had been repulsed enough by what he saw to need to avert his eyes once or twice. For someone like Le Beau, who grew faint at the sight of a paper cut, it would have been even more traumatic. He was impressed that Le Beau had managed to survive the encounter on his feet, but afterwards… well, the emotional impact of seeing Hogan would be equally hard on them all.

Newkirk scratched his head briskly, trying to keep himself alert, aware, focused. Hogan would need that. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a soft female voice asked, "Would you like to see him?"

The Englishman looked up to see one of the nurses who had been there when they arrived, standing in the doorway. "I beg your pardon?"

"Would you like to see the Captain?" the young lady repeated. "He has been settled in his room now. I know you came in with him and…"

Newkirk smiled tolerantly as the girl faltered. "That is very kind," he replied. "_Ja_, I would like to see him, _danke_."

The pair went upstairs and down a couple of corridors, which Newkirk passed mainly in a haze. He kept flashing back to the cell in Gestapo Headquarters. The damp smell of the room filled his nostrils, the pathetic groans from the Colonel's throat filled his ears. Could he cope with seeing Hogan now? He steeled himself as the nurse pushed open the wooden door that led into the room and followed her stiffly inside.

It wasn't what he expected. The room was lit dimly from a light above the bed, where an oxygen tent was encasing Robert Hogan. A tipped-up bottle hanging on a metal pole was feeding some kind of fluid into him through an intravenous tube taped to his right hand, below a heavily bandaged wrist. His hair had been washed and combed back. He was lying on his side, propped up by a wall of pillows. There was a single, white bandage on the left side of the Colonel's bruised face. Anything else was hidden under the blanket that had been gently draped over him. Hogan didn't look at rest, Newkirk thought. But at least he was still alive.

Newkirk stepped hesitantly toward the bed, wanting contradictorily both to be near his commanding officer and to run away from him. "You won't wake him," the nurse said softly; "he has been sedated."

Newkirk's eyes were riveted to the plastic. "Does he… know I'm here?" the Englishman couldn't help asking. _Stupid question,_ he told himself.

The nurse shook her head softly. "No," she said with a sympathetic smile. "But it is better for him this way right now."

Newkirk nodded. He knew when he'd asked. But he wanted Hogan to be different. "The tent…?"

"He cannot take in deep breaths because he has broken ribs, and he needs the oxygen to heal." The nurse saw Newkirk run his eyes down the length of the bed. "He is on his side because his back has been traumatized as well. We will turn him every hour to minimize soreness and give him some relief." Still, Newkirk said nothing. He continued staring. "_Herr __Kapitän_," the nurse prodded in a whisper.

Newkirk pulled himself out of his own world. "Mm? Sorry."

The young woman smiled encouragingly. "Please don't worry so. We will do everything we can for him," she said.

"_Danke,"_ Newkirk said briefly.

The nurse looked at Hogan and shook her head, dismayed. "How terrible, to be beaten so badly—and without reason!" she lamented.

Newkirk listened to her repeat the story they had decided to tell the hospital staff; a slight variation on the one they had been told by the Gestapo, it seemed like the easiest way to explain Hogan's injuries without being questioned intensively by the authorities. "Monstrous," Newkirk declared softly. He stared hard at Hogan's battered face, willing the Colonel to move, to open his eyes, to groan in pain—_anything._ "He did not deserve this."

"He is strong," observed the nurse. "He will fight."

"I hope you're right," Newkirk replied. "But I still owe someone a few rounds in a dark alley."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Carter backed into the room, still spouting orders to the hospital staff outside. "And when I am in this room with him, _no one_ is to enter unless I say so!"

"_Jawohl, Herr Oberst,"_ Newkirk heard from the other side of the wall.

Carter finally shut the door and turned around, stopping short as he suddenly took in the scene before him. He stared wide-eyed at Hogan, then at the apparatus all around him, then he let his eyes dart around the room until he discovered Newkirk sitting in a chair against the wall. "Hey," the Sergeant said in a whisper, making his way quickly toward the Englishman.

Newkirk broke his intense stare at a spot on the floor in front of him and looked at Carter, letting his mind absorb the _Abwehr_ officer's garb on his friend. "Nice work, Carter," he said, dropping his eyes once more, uncomfortably.

Carter's normally bright face was set in a frown that he couldn't erase. "How's the Colonel?"

Newkirk shrugged. "The nurse says they've done everything they can—now we have to wait and see how he responds." He kept playing with his hands, only fleetingly looking up at Carter. "'e hasn't moved a muscle since I've been in here."

"That's probably a good thing," Carter tried to say optimistically. He looked back toward Hogan, looking so small in that big bed, totally still; "you know, it means he isn't feeling too bad."

"Maybe," is all Newkirk offered in response.

The pair fell silent, each in his own thoughts. Carter had a dozen questions, but now didn't seem like the right time to ask any of them. Eventually, Newkirk confessed to the quiet room, "I'm scared, Carter."

"Scared? What are you scared about?" Carter asked, though he himself was standing there, unable to look away from Hogan, and feeling more frightened than he had ever felt in his life. "You got the Colonel away from the Gestapo. Everything'll be okay."

But Newkirk shook his head. "I'm not sure about that, Carter," he said. He looked up and stared at Hogan intently. "Look at him—he's not moving, he's not talking. He doesn't even know we're here. How can you say everything'll be okay?"

Carter swallowed hard. "He's not moving and he's not talking because his body's working to get better," he said insistently. "The doctor told me the Colonel's working really hard!"

Newkirk shook his head. "Yeah, well… that don't mean nothin'."

Carter frowned and moved in closer to the Englishman. "Newkirk?"

"It's that damned oxygen tent, Andrew," Newkirk burst. "People in oxygen tents—they just don't get better."

"That's not true, Peter," Carter said, trying to sound comforting. "Lots of people in the hospital use an oxygen tent nowadays. It helps them to breathe better so they can get well again."

But Newkirk was still shaking his head. "No, it doesn't," he insisted. Then his voice fell as he reminisced in the worst way. "My mum was in one of those for awhile, you know. I remember me dad took us to see her once in hospital. _She_ was in one of them," he explained. "But the next time I went back… she was gone. Mind you, I know the oxygen tent didn't kill her…. But you can't convince me that it's anything but a transparent warning that the person under it is about to die."

"It's not like that this time, Newkirk! It's _not_!" Carter maintained vehemently.

"I thought it would be better, seeing 'im here," Newkirk continued quietly, as though Carter had never spoken. "Seeing him all tucked up in a nice, clean bed instead of lying on a filthy floor in some Gestapo cell; the doctors tellin' you it looks worse than it is, he's gonna be just fine… But it isn't. It really _is_ as bad as it looks, and there isn't a damn thing I can do to change it." The Englishman buried his face in his open hand and took a shaking breath.

"You can pray, Peter," Carter said quietly. "I've been doing it ever since we got word that the Colonel had been arrested. I haven't stopped yet."

"I've been doing that, Carter," Newkirk admitted with a slow shake of his head. "I just wish I knew that Someone was listening."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan's body shook as a sudden wave of terrible pain took control of him. What were Golz and his devils doing to him now?_ No, please, please, don't touch me. Please, it hurts so much; just leave me. Please. Please!_

A weak groan escaped Hogan's parted lips, sounding more like a sob. The nurse and the orderly she had brought with her did not stop their activity, though they slowed just briefly. Hogan moaned again, grimacing, his eyes squeezed tightly shut in his struggle to cope with the pain, fighting the touch of his tormentors. The orderly braced him with firm but gentle hands as the nurse carefully eased a pillow in between his knees and ankles. Then she gently held Hogan on his side as the orderly strategically placed other pillows behind the patient to stop him from rolling all the way onto his back. She drew up the blanket, and Hogan jerked frantically for a few seconds, then went limp. The nurse checked the intravenous tube and bottle, briefly examined his swollen face and the bandage on his cheek, and nodded to the orderly that everything was as it should be. The oxygen tent was replaced again.

"Why does he moan?" Carter asked, trying to sound disinterested and abrupt.

The nurse nodded the orderly out of the room to continue his rounds and turned to Carter and Newkirk. "He is badly injured, _Herr Oberst_. He is feeling pain."

"This is a hospital," Carter declared crossly. "Give him something."

"I'm afraid we cannot, _Herr Oberst_," the nurse answered. "It is too soon after the last dosage. It would be dangerous for him," she said softly, apologetically.

"That is not an answer!" Carter persisted angrily.

_No… no more answers… I don't know anyone named Tiger…. _The German's demand for answers filtered through and sent Hogan into a panic. He couldn't take any more. His body was on fire. He was burning up with pain. _There is no Tiger… no… It's me! I told them __**I**__ was Tiger… or was that a dream? Please… please help me…._

Hogan let out a louder, more insistent moan, and tried unsuccessfully to curl into himself. The nurse came to his bedside immediately. Hogan seemed be struggling to breathe, even with the added oxygen, and beads of sweat had sprung onto his brow. His groans were trumpeting something, but Hogan's men weren't sure what. Was it fear? Pain? Both?

The nurse murmured gently to him, making sure he didn't accidentally pull out any tubes. "I will get some cool water and a cloth to try and soothe him," she said softly to Newkirk and Carter. "It is all I can do." Then she hurried away.

Hogan's men approached the bed now, fearful but compelled to offer comfort of their own.

"We're here, gov'nor."

Hogan felt his psyche crumble._ No one else should be in this nightmare. I held out as long as I could so you could get away. What are you doing here, Newkirk?__** How did Golz get you, too?**_

Newkirk looked worriedly at Carter as incomprehensible sounds continued to come from Hogan's lips, and the Colonel was moving—weak, uncoordinated turns hampered by the blanket and the pillows meant to hold him in place.

"It's okay, Colonel," Carter assured Hogan in low tones. "We're getting you help. We won't leave you alone here."

_Carter?... _A loud, anguished moan called the Sergeant's name. _No, Carter, not you, too…. Leave me. Leave me here. Get out!_

Then, his senses on overload, and his body feeling electrified but his strength depleted, Hogan let his mind shut down and sank into his nightmares.


	18. Back to Reality

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, original characters and storyline are LJ Groundwater's. Thanks.

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Le Beau furrowed his brow questioningly but simply nodded as he passed Iron Hans standing outside Hogan's room wearing an _Abwehr _uniform and made his way inside. Shutting the door behind him, he was immediately struck by two things: the sight of Hogan looking so helpless and lifeless in the bed; and the presence of Tiger beside him.

The Frenchman said nothing as he came further into the quiet, darkened room. Hogan was still. He looked better than he had when Le Beau had last seen him in Düsseldorf, but not by much. His hair had been washed, his face cleaned up, and he'd even been carefully shaved around the terrible lacerations and multi-colored swellings on his cheeks and chin. His right eye was still badly swollen, something that made Le Beau's stomach do a tiny flip. But Hogan was expressionless, something that could be interpreted either as a good sign, or as a bad one.

If Tiger had heard him come in, she didn't show it. She was sitting in a chair right next to the bed, leaning forward as if listening to something or looking for something that wasn't forthcoming. Her eyes never left Hogan's face, and Le Beau sensed that she was talking to him, even though she never said a word.

The pair remained quiet for a moment, just watching the Colonel breathing in and out, each thinking their own thoughts, praying their own prayers. Then, finally, Tiger said very softly, "He told them… he was me."

"_Oui_," Le Beau confirmed in a whisper, "he did." More silence. "How did you get in here?" he asked eventually.

Still seeing only Hogan, Tiger replied, "_Capitaine_ Stark is very unwell and he is heavily sedated. In this state, he may say many things that others should not hear—top secret information that his superiors in Berlin should know about." Tiger turned and looked directly at Le Beau. "Anything he says needs to be communicated to his superiors at once. As his personal assistant, it is my job to gather that information."

Le Beau's lips curled into a half-smile. "And Iron Hans standing outside the door in uniform?"

"_Abwehr_ protection, in case there is further retribution against the Captain."

Le Beau nodded. "Very nice. Whose idea was that?"

"Mine." Her spark extinguished, she turned back to Hogan, her heart breaking for the hundredth time. _Robert… s'il vous plait, mon cher Seigneur, je mendie de Vous… please, dear God, I beg of You…_ "I had to be here."

"_Oui, je compris,"_ Le Beau said simply. Of course he understood. He had to be here, too. Even if there was nothing he could do.

The pair lapsed into silence once again. "What if he does not get well?" Tiger asked, her voice small, and vulnerable.

Le Beau looked at her. Her face was so close to the oxygen tent she was nearly touching it. Her bottom lip was quivering. Her eyes, wide and moist, were locked on Hogan's face, silently pleading for the Colonel to do something, anything, to show that he was here in the room with her, that he could understand she was here, that he would come back to them, that everything would go back to the way it was before that awful, terrible night in Hofberg, when everything had changed.

Le Beau gently squeezed Tiger's shoulders. "Marie," he said softly, "_le Colonel_ would never let _les Boches_ win. He is fighting. And he does not lose."

At his touch, Tiger's façade of stoicism disappeared. The tears rolled openly down her face, and she did not try to hide them. "Please be right, Corporal," she said, as Hogan took in what seemed to be a difficult breath and moaned softly before falling silent once again. "Please… please be right."

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"So the Underground has the Colonel covered while he's in the hospital," Carter summarized with a nod when Le Beau explained what he had seen. "That's a great idea, boy," he said, nodding.

"And Tiger got to have a look-in, as well," Newkirk added. "It's good to know that as long as the Colonel's out of it, there'll be someone around to cover any slip-ups he might make."

"He won't make any slip-ups," Le Beau argued, cross at the mere suggestion. Then, reality hit him with the image of Hogan lying powerless in that hospital bed. He added bitterly, "He cannot speak to make any mistakes."

Kinch crossed his arms and frowned deeply. The reports from the hospital were grim, and distressing. His commanding officer—his friend—needed his support, and he could not give it. "Who's going back out to see him tonight?" he asked curtly.

"I am," Newkirk said, tossing the butt of his cigarette into the stove. "Le Beau was the last one there last night, and Carter needs to keep control of the electricity around here a little bit longer."

"Corporal Mueller's due back soon," Carter said with a nod. "I'd better make the problem Klink had with his lights look pretty complicated. Otherwise Newkirk's gonna look like an idiot!"

"_Don't say it_," Newkirk said instantly, with a look in Le Beau's direction.

The Frenchman brought up his hands and pasted an innocent look on his face. "It is too easy," he finally said with a grin. Newkirk made a face. "What if Klink comes looking for you?" Le Beau asked instead.

"It'll be too bleedin' dark for 'im to see me anyway," the Englishman answered. "Besides, it's just one night."

"That's right," Carter agreed. "After that, the Colonel might be able to come home!"

Le Beau and Newkirk both fixed the Sergeant with hard stares. "It won't be that fast, _mon ami_," Le Beau said sullenly.

Carter lowered his eyes, knowing they were right, but disappointed about it. "I know," he said sadly. "I was just kinda… hoping."

Newkirk nodded despondently. "We all are, mate," he said.

Kinch suddenly pulled away from the bunk he'd been leaning on and slammed his hand onto the latch that opened the entrance to the tunnel below. Without a word to the others, he descended the ladder and disappeared.

Hogan's men looked at each other, concerned. "You can't blame 'im, can you?" Newkirk observed with a shake of his head. "It's gotta be hard for him."

"Yeah," Carter said. "We've all had a chance to visit Colonel Hogan at the hospital—even _Tiger's_ gotten in there—and he can't even get near the building."

Le Beau looked toward the ladder, still feeling his friend's stirred-up emotions and wishing he could help. "As much as we cannot do, we can at least be there. All Kinch can do is imagine." He swallowed hard as his own memories came to the fore. "And no matter how bad things are, that can be worse."

"I wish there was something we could do," Carter said gloomily.

"Me, too," Newkirk agreed. "But it'd be too much of a risk trying to sneak Kinch into the hospital. If he got caught, it'd be his head _and_ the Colonel's."

"Yeah," Carter resigned, lowering his head. "I guess we can't afford to take a chance."

"Still… I know I would be going crazy if I could not go and see him," Le Beau admitted. The trio was silent for a moment, then Le Beau spat out, "This is all because of that filthy traitor—Kinch, _le Colonel_, everything. _Colonel_ Hogan should never have gone all the way to Hofberg on his own."

Newkirk pursed his lips and nodded grimly. He agreed with Le Beau about the Hunter, but he also knew that it was just this type of risk that Hogan had been shielding his men from when he told them he was taking on this mission alone. The danger in traveling so far from Stalag 13 was too high, and Hogan had known that. And now the officer's hopes of getting information about an aircraft assembly plant back to the Allies had turned into a disaster, which Newkirk couldn't see getting better any time soon.

"At least we got rid of the Hunter," Carter offered feebly, not sounding as positive as he had hoped. _It wasn't worth it for what happened to the Colonel._

"I'd have happily let him go on his merry way if it meant that…" Newkirk's bitter reply drifted off. Winning the war meant sacrifice, he had always been told; Newkirk had always known it was true and he knew Hogan accepted that. But there was a huge gap between the philosophy and the reality—the reality was almost impossible to bear.

Carter nodded miserably. "Me, too," he said.

Kinch's head appeared in the barracks. "You'd better get down here," he said, so seriously that the others felt their chests constrict at once. They scrambled to the ladder and practically fell down into the tunnel, where they pulled up short when they saw Iron Hans standing before them. The fear that gripped them was ice-cold and all-encompassing.

"What is the matter?" Le Beau asked, his voice sounding strange in his ears. He didn't know why he felt compelled to ask that question; he knew he didn't want an answer.

Iron Hans looked sharply back at Hogan's men. "We have trouble. Something we did not expect or anticipate." He paused as though still trying to find the right words to say. "The Hunter—he was not working alone."

"_What?"_

Hogan's men were sure they misheard the Underground agent. They had succeeded in their objective: to get Colonel Hogan away from the Gestapo and expose the traitor to the Resistance. Since then, they had not given the Hunter's actions a second thought. Until now.

"The Hofberg Underground is scattered. The Gestapo burst in on their usual meeting place earlier today, but thankfully we had already warned them, and they are now hurrying to safe houses and escape routes. They believe the Hunter was either working with someone, or he warned someone about what he was doing when he went out with Corporals Newkirk and Le Beau."

"Or another one of the people they thought they could trust was a bloody Benedict Arnold," Newkirk said.

"So what does this mean?" Kinch asked. "What about the Colonel?"

"He could be in serious danger," Iron Hans admitted. "Depending on what the Gestapo has been told, they could be coming to Hammelburg to arrest Captain Stark again—only this time they won't be so interested in letting him go."

"Then we've got to get him out of there," Kinch said decisively.

"Kinch," Newkirk protested, "you haven't seen him—the gov'nor's not in any shape to walk out of a hospital."

"No, I _haven't_ seen him," the Sergeant answered strongly, that wound still raw. "But it doesn't matter if he's in shape to move or not. If we don't get him out of there, the Gestapo will either drag him back to Düsseldorf, or shoot him in his bed as a spy. And I don't like either of those options."

The others reluctantly agreed. "So what do we do?" Le Beau asked.

"Colonel Hogan will have to come back here; it is the only safe place for him," Iron Hans announced.

Newkirk shook his head. "He's in no condition to be climbing down ladders or into tunnels," he announced. "I'm no doctor, but even I can tell you that."

"You will not be able to wait very long," Iron Hans said. "If the Gestapo believes that Colonel Hogan is a spy, they will go to Hammelburg as quickly as possible."

"We'll have to think of something fast, then," Kinch said determinedly.

"Hey, why can't we bring Colonel Hogan in through the front gate?" Carter said unexpectedly.

"Through the front gate?" Newkirk repeated incredulously. "That'd give his condition away from the word 'go'!"

"That won't matter," Carter replied. "Do you think Klink's really gonna argue with _Gruppenf__ührer _Knopf?"

The others' eyes took on new hope as they considered the possibilities now before them.

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Hogan opened his eyes, or tried to; there was such an immediate, overwhelmingly sharp stab to his skull when he saw light that he slammed them shut again instantly. After a moment, he opened his eyes very slowly and cautiously, looking without understanding at the blurry environment around him. Then his brain and the rest of his body connected fully and he was plunged into a world of pain. "_Hnnnnnnn_," he groaned through gritted teeth, only increasing his agony as his battered jaw and face protested the move. He closed his eyes again and slackened his jaw with a gasping breath. He couldn't care about where he was now; his body was holding him hostage to astounding pain which commanded his full attention.

"_Slowly, Captain,"_ came a voice in soft, soothing tones.

_Captain…_ Hogan let the words wash over him, not realizing that they were being spoken in German and translated automatically in his head. He had no frame of reference, no time. Everything was still in a jumble, and his mind hurtled him back to a difficult moment in his past, when the rank would have made sense. _Oh, God, the test flight… the crash… Reynolds… _Another wave of pain. He couldn't stop the moan. "_Hnnnnnnnn_," he keened, breaking out in a cold sweat.

"_Sssshhhh,"_ the voice whispered gently. _"You are among friends. Versuchen Sie sich zu entspannen."_

_Don't touch me. Please don't touch me. Oh, God, please… _Pain burned from his fingertips to the roots of his hair and everywhere in between. He felt like he was on fire, every breath fueling the inferno from deep inside him. Unwillingly, he let out a whimper that struck another match on his face. He felt his body shivering as sweat poured from his hair down his temples. He tried to stop another moan, but he couldn't, and his trembling increased, adding even more kindling to the raging fire.

"_Sie müssen versuchen, langsam zu atmen. Hilfe kommt."_

Hogan tried desperately to obey the voice telling him to breathe slowly, but it was hard, so hard, when every nerve in his body was screaming for relief. He concentrated, then tried to let the rhythm of the words being repeated softly lull him into a relaxed state. _"Hilfe kommt. Hilfe kommt. Atmen Sie langsam." Help is coming. Breathe slowly._

He was starting to get some control over the pain when he gave a sudden start. _She's speaking German!_ he realized, an insight that he instantly let go of as his movement triggered a renewed symphony of agony that played with excruciating sharpness through his body. He cried out softly. The voice tried to soothe him again, tried to still him once more, but the hand touching his shoulder seared him and he could not comply.

"_Langsam. Bitte, langsam."_ Hogan heard the gentle, almost pleading voice again, and through the pain-filled haze clouding his mind he finally pieced his fragile reality together. His earlier thoughts of a test flight plane crash had been a flashback, brought on by the person trying to comfort him calling him "Captain." But he wasn't in the United States, he now realized; he was in Germany, he was in a hospital, he was _alone_. Exhausted from battling the pain, he watched without registering as a person floated into view, moving in closer. _A nurse,_ part of his brain told him. A discarded thought. The liquid entering his body through the intravenous tube suddenly turned cold, and for a moment, panic seized him as another flashback—this one from _after_ his capture by the Nazis—confronted him. Pain flooded his body yet again.

"_Das wird Ihrem Schmerz helfen, Kapitän. Versuchen Sie, langsamen Atem zu nehmen."_

Hogan tried desperately to obey. Slow, steady breaths. She promised what she was giving him would help him. In… out… in… out… _Captain,_ he heard again. That was wrong. He wasn't a Captain; he was a Colonel. _Captain… Captain Stark? __**Major Golz…**_His full memory rushed back, leaving him breathless and devastated. How did he get here? What had been said about him? _Could this nurse be helping him because she believed he was a German officer?_

"_Sie, muss atmen, Kapitän. Ja, und noch einmal. Dort, jetzt... Das ist gut."_

_Breathe,_ the nurse reminded him again. _You must breathe._ Hogan tried. He began to feel heavy-headed, but he resisted as questions started to filter in. Where, exactly, was he? Where were his men? Were they safe? Was Tiger? Did any of them know where he was? Then, as the intravenous fluid worked its magic, Hogan found himself drifting back into an irresistible, swirling blackness, where he felt nothing, heard nothing, saw nothing.

It was a relief.


	19. On the Run

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, storyline and original characters belongs to L J Groundwater.

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"…_safe here… You are safe here…."_

The words drifted into Hogan's consciousness as he felt himself slowly emerging from the comforting fog he had been suspended in for God knew how long. He didn't open his eyes, reluctant to do anything that would sharpen his senses.

But the words continued to come, softly, gently, and they would have lulled him soothingly back to sleep if some part of him hadn't _needed_ to listen to this voice.

"…_that all is well and everyone is safe now…. Please, Robert…"_

Hogan's lips parted and he sighed softly. It was still too hard to open his eyes.

"_Robert?..."_ The voice seemed so sad. _"Robert, please… if you can hear me… please show me."_

Hogan let out a small groan of effort and forced his eyelids to part ever so slightly. The gasp from beside him told him it was enough. He felt someone take his hand. _"Merci, Dieu,"_ he heard. The faraway voice now seemed crisper, clearer. Much more familiar. _You are safe here,_ he repeated to himself, and just now, he wanted to believe it.

"Robert," came the voice again, this time in a whisper, "can you hear me? Please look at me."

But Hogan couldn't do more than he already had, and even that was wearing him out fast. He remained still, breathing steadily and with a slowly increasing awareness of discomfort.

"Robert, it is me: Marie."

As the meaning of the words connected with the voice, Hogan felt relief wash over him like a tidal wave. Still strangely unable to force his eyes open wider, he managed to make a noise that could have been taken as a sound of joy at his deliverance. He felt the hand cocooning his own tighten.

"You are safe. Can you hear me? You are safe here." Instinctively, Hogan's own grip tightened just slightly. He continued his concentrated breathing as he reveled in the voice of the woman whose life he had feared for almost constantly in the last few days. Marie's voice, when she next spoke, sounded infinitely happier than it had when Hogan had first heard it. "You must try to understand what I am saying. You are in a hospital." _I was right. Thank you, God._ "We told the staff you are Captain Stark, so they would treat you. Do you understand? We are here with you, but they believe you are _Captain Erich Stark_."

Hogan understood. He felt Tiger's fingers playing along the back of his hand and suddenly desperately wanted to see her face. He tried very hard to open his eyes. Could eyelids hurt? Hogan hadn't thought so until now. He moaned softly, but he persisted. His right eye still hurt immensely, even with the drugs he had been given, and he couldn't see out of it at all. The vision in his left eye was better, but bruising around it made opening it painful to try and nearly impossible to accomplish. The only thing he was able to see clearly was… plastic? What was surrounding him? He tried to focus his brain as a thrill of fear shivered through him.

Tiger must have sensed the fright in the American Colonel; she squeezed his hand reassuringly and repeated, "You are safe, Robert. The oxygen tent is to help you to breathe better. Do not be afraid."

Hogan immediately let the tension drain from his shoulders; he didn't have the strength to hold on to fear, or any other emotion, for that matter. Still, he wanted to see Tiger, so he forced himself to turn his head toward her voice. Pain, ceaseless pain. But he didn't give in, and when the spots dancing in front of his eyes receded, he could make out the outline of her face. Breathing hard from the exertion, he tried to make out her features. She was sitting outside the oxygen tent, leaning in close. She had slipped her hand underneath the barrier and had not let go of him for a single second. Her face was not clear to him, but he could see her eyes… her eyes… filled with the look of reassurance and trust that he had clung to every time he had faced Major Golz and his torture squad. He tried to speak, but he could not. A small, grunting breath came out instead.

It was enough to make Tiger beam. "Hello," she said softly.

Hogan tried to smile back. "Mmm," he replied. He fought his eyes, which were trying to close.

Tiger seemed unsure what to say next. Finally, she settled on, "Do you know where you are?"

Hogan's answer came out as a croaked whisper. "Hospital." _Owww._

The grimace that passed over Hogan's face and the perspiration that erupted onto his forehead showed Tiger the toll that speaking just that single word had taken on him. _"Oui,"_ she barely choked out, longing to stroke his brow and comfort him. "You are safe now."

Hogan didn't answer. His eyes continued to stare at nothing. As she watched him, Tiger's heart overflowed yet again with compassion and affection, and though she knew he was struggling, she could not help but ask what had been playing on her mind since he had first been rescued from Gestapo Headquarters. "Is it… true that you told the Gestapo… you were… Tiger?"

If she had been expecting an instant answer, she would have been disappointed. Hogan remained perfectly still for a long moment, and except for the hissing breaths that he took, he made not a sound. Finally, his eyes still devoid of life, he spoke, though Tiger had to lean in close to hear his painful whisper. "I thought… if…" An excruciating swallow. "…they believed they had… killed… Tiger…" Hogan whimpered as he once again swallowed knives. "…they might stop looking… for you."

Tiger's mind reeled. Like Le Beau and the others, she had believed that if what Golz had said was true, Hogan had confessed to being Tiger simply as a ploy to get the Gestapo to, even temporarily, stop torturing him. But what the Colonel said now discredited that whole idea. He hadn't been trying to stop the Nazis from hurting him; Hogan had been taken beyond "hurt" and had clearly been certain he was about to die. So he had told Golz that he was Tiger, hoping his death would not be in vain. _He had said he was Tiger because he wanted to protect her—to his very last breath._

Tears streamed down Tiger's face as she absorbed Hogan's statement, and she got so lost in her thoughts that at first she did not realize Hogan had closed his eyes and was now taking sharp, shallow breaths. It was a tight squeeze of her hand that brought his condition to her attention, and at once her eyes moved to his face to see him sweating profusely and very clearly trying to cope with severe pain. Tiger blinked herself into action and she stood, wishing she could get past the oxygen tent but knowing she should not. "I am going to get you help. I'm not going far," she explained as she carefully extricated her hand from his, though she suspected he wasn't hearing her.

She turned toward the door, wiping her eyes. This nightmare was going on too long.

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Newkirk stood beside the bed silently, having intended to simply walk past the latest Underground person standing outside the room and tell Tiger what was happening. But he found himself unable to when the emotion of the room hit him in the face. Hogan was either sleeping or unconscious, but the intense look in Tiger's eyes as she watched him made the Englishman suspect that all had not been so peaceful before he came in.

"He is resting now," Tiger finally said, her expression softening to one of undisguised affection. Newkirk stared, mesmerized, as she gently caressed Hogan's still hand inside the oxygen tent. "The pain medication has helped… a bit. He does not thrash about so much."

"That's good," Newkirk replied. He paused.

Tiger sensed hesitation in the Corporal, and, forcing herself to look away from Hogan's still face, she turned to Newkirk. "What is it?" she asked.

"We have to get Colonel Hogan out of here."

Tiger's eyes widened. "What?"

"The Hunter told someone what he was doing. It's not safe for the gov'nor here. We have to move him."

"But—but he is—"

"I know," Newkirk said over Tiger's spluttered protests. He looked over toward his commanding officer, feeling so much older than he had a week ago. "But if we don't take him now, he's bound to be arrested again. And this time…" He swallowed hard, understanding the irony in his words, "…he won't be so lucky."

Tiger nodded mutely, then turned back to Hogan. He looked so tired, she thought. So weary of the world. How much more could he be forced to endure and still survive? She blinked quickly several times, fighting the hot tears that were building once more behind her eyes. _So quick to emotion,_ she chided herself. There was certainly enough happening to justify it, she realized, _but it won't help Robert. And I must help him now… because he cannot help himself._ "So what do we do?" she asked finally.

"Just wait," Newkirk answered. "Go along with whatever we say."

Tiger nodded.

Moments later, the door to Hogan's room swung open and a nurse and a doctor walked in, followed by Carter, who was also dressed as an _Abwehr_ officer. All were arguing in increasingly louder tones.

"I am telling you, you must not move this man. He needs monitored medical attention," the doctor insisted, reaching the bed and spinning back toward the others.

"And _I_ am telling _you_ that this man will leave the hospital immediately," Carter, dressed completely and convincingly as the _Oberst_ who had previously visited the hospital, replied forcefully. "Otherwise you will be monitoring a _dead_ man. A complete waste of your time." Carter moved in toward Hogan and suppressed the shiver that ran through him when he saw the Colonel lying oblivious to what was happening. The doctor was right, he knew; Hogan needed to be in a hospital. But with the Gestapo certain to pounce—and soon—it was just as dangerous to leave Hogan in that bed. "No," he said, facing down the physician, "he will come with us. Get him ready."

"Really, _Herr __Oberst_, it is _impossible_. This man cannot travel!"

"He will travel," Carter snipped. He looked at Newkirk. "Ritter, see that all is made ready."

"_Jawohl, Herr Oberst,"_ Newkirk answered, snapping to attention. He turned to the nurse. "We will take his medical records."

"I don't understand why you are doing this, _Oberst _Baumeister," the doctor persisted.

"It is very simple," Carter answered. He looked down his nose at the doctor, wishing they could take the man with them, knowing that they could not: "_Kapitän_ Stark was brought here due to the possibility of reprisals by the Underground. We have received word that the partisans are now aware of his location, and we have every reason to believe that they will come here looking for him, in all probability trying to pass themselves off as members of the Gestapo. Therefore, we are taking him away." Carter raised an eyebrow derisively. "Have I told you enough of the _Abwehr's_ business, _Herr _Doctor?"

The physician swallowed hard and regrouped his thoughts. To his credit, Carter thought, the man continued to try and protect his patient's wellbeing. "He will need constant care for some time. Where are you taking him?" the doctor asked.

"You do not need to know where we are taking him!" Carter snapped. He gestured angrily, carelessly, toward the bed. "Get him up and ready to go. I will be back in five minutes!" He looked at Tiger. "You—who are you?"

Tiger blinked, stayed in her chosen role. "I am _Kapitän_ Stark's assistant."

"You will come with us. Ritter," he said, pointing at Newkirk. "Make sure they give you any medicines that the _Kapitän_ will need, with instructions for his care."

"Of course, _Oberst_ Baumeister," Newkirk agreed.

"Come with me," Carter ordered Tiger. "We will see that the car is ready for him."

"Wait!"

Carter and the others paused as the doctor's voice penetrated the room. "Sir. He needs to be under a doctor's care. I can go with you."

It was tempting, and Carter had to bite his tongue to stop himself from agreeing instantly. He looked with pleading eyes at Newkirk, who almost imperceptibly, but regrettably, shook his head.

Carter looked at the physician. "It is very dedicated of you," he said shortly. "But it is not possible. Give Captain Ritter everything Stark will need. We will pass on your instructions." He looked back at Tiger. "You will come."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Iron Hans met them at the car outside. "Everything is ready?" he asked.

"As ready as it _can_ be," Carter replied, looking at the car that he wished was at least a truck so Hogan could lie down. He shook his head. "Boy, I don't know how we're gonna do this," he admitted. "Colonel Hogan's not even awake. I'm scared that if we take him away from the hospital, we're gonna make things worse for him."

"He cannot be worse than _dead_," Iron Hans countered; "you are doing what you must." He looked at Tiger. "Does Colonel Hogan understand what is happening?"

Tiger shook her head. "He woke up for a few minutes," she said, so relieved at being able to say that, "but that was earlier today. He knows nothing of this plan."

Suddenly feeling heavily burdened and very sad, Carter looked at the ground. Iron Hans noticed. "We will make sure he is safe," he told the American softly. "This is for the best."

Carter looked up into the big man's face and prayed that he was right.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Please. _Please_ hold it still," the doctor was saying to Newkirk, who was trying to hold a wheelchair steady as the physician and the nurse transferred Hogan into it. The Colonel was still unconscious, a limp burden to them. Pursing his lips tightly, the doctor positioned Hogan in the chair as the nurse placed a blanket across the American's lap with a rueful shake of her head.

The doctor kept his hand on Hogan's shoulder. "He will not be able to sit upright on his own," he said with insuppressible irritation at Newkirk. "And the trip, wherever you are taking him, will be very uncomfortable. He should not be jostled about."

Newkirk frowned deeply, knowing that everything the doctor was saying was true, but that they had no choice. He scowled at the physician. "We must act quickly," he said gruffly, glad that the situation allowed him to express his frustration without giving anything away. "His comfort will have to be secondary." _Sorry, gov'nor._ "We have everything," he said. "Let's go."

Newkirk placed his hand on Hogan's shoulder and eased the Colonel back into the chair. Hogan moaned softly, and his head rose up vaguely. His men watched carefully but he did not fully wake up. "Careful," the doctor admonished sharply.

As they moved slowly toward the door, Tiger and Carter entered. "It is time," Carter said authoritatively.

"He's ready," the doctor replied defensively. "As ready as we can make him." He shook his head angrily. "I must go on record as strongly protesting this action. Captain Stark is—"

"Your protest is noted," Carter interrupted curtly. "Now we will leave."

The doctor glared at the German _Oberst_ but said nothing else. Instead, he busied himself hovering over Hogan even as the wheelchair moved out into the hall and toward the exit to the hospital. They got outside with only minimal audible protest from Hogan, and when they reached the car, Iron Hans was there waiting. He looked, concerned, at Hogan, and then turned his gaze on the doctor. "You will come," Iron Hans said.

Hogan's men began to protest. What on earth had possessed the Underground agent to act on his own, without consulting them? "No one is allowed to come with us," Newkirk insisted.

"We have explicit orders from Berlin," Carter added.

But the big German was firm. "The Captain is very ill. He needs a doctor's care to survive." He turned back to the doctor. "You will come," he repeated.

The doctor stared back at Iron Hans. "Fine," he said evenly. He looked at the vehicle. "You are using a _car_ to transport him?" he asked.

"The _Abwehr_ is not a medical corps," Iron Hans replied.

"Open the door." The doctor turned to Newkirk, who was still holding Hogan by the shoulder. "Move closer," he said to the Englishman. Newkirk obeyed, and gently, the doctor pulled Hogan away from the back of the chair. "Get in the back seat and be ready to support him," he ordered Tiger. She obeyed quickly. The doctor gestured for Iron Hans to help him, and together the two men very carefully lifted Hogan out of the chair. Now not as deeply unconscious, Hogan frowned and cried out softly as he was moved into the car. The doctor gingerly leaned Hogan against Tiger's shoulder, and he bundled the blanket they had brought from upstairs in behind the Colonel, to shield his back from hitting the seat. Tiger draped her arm protectively across Hogan's body, to keep him in place and stop him from moving as much as possible.

The doctor nodded reluctant approval. "It is the best we can hope for," he said. "Where are we going?"

Iron Hans spoke at once. "Our destination is not important. You will simply look after the man." Then he turned to Carter and Newkirk, who were still looking at him with deep concern, and said, "No matter what else happens, Captain Stark's survival is of paramount importance." Then, more softly, he added, "Trust me."


	20. Heading for Home

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, storyline and original characters belongs to LJ Groundwater. Thanks.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Iron Hans threw a glance from the driver's seat toward the doctor in the back. "How deeply under is he?"

The doctor shook his head. "Not as deeply as I would like," he replied. His voice hardened as he added, "I don't know what you're planning to do with him, but whatever it is, I can assure you he is not up to the task."

"He will be ready when he is needed."

The doctor snorted. "Perhaps not," he maintained. He looked back to Hogan, who was still leaning up against Tiger. The American's face was damp with perspiration, and he was beginning to move slightly, actions accompanied by weak groans that confirmed his pain. Tiger was stroking his neck gently, trying to soothe him. "This man needs to be in a hospital, not in the back of a car, driving around the countryside. This is wrong."

"It is necessary," Iron Hans replied.

Newkirk stayed turned away from the back seat, both worried and relieved by the physician's very presence. Dragging this physician along—regardless of how willing he was to keep his Hippocratic Oath—meant that one more person's life was going to be turned upside down because of this war. But he agreed unreservedly with Iron Hans: if Hogan was going to have a chance at recovering from his awful injuries, he needed to be under a doctor's care, and so he did his best to disregard the guilt that niggled at him during the drive.

"Regardless of what side of the war you support, Albert, it is inhumane to make this poor Captain suffer as you are. _Abwehr_ or otherwise, he is still a man," the doctor persisted crossly.

"If we do not do this, he will be killed." Iron Hans let out a heavy sigh. "Please believe me, Jakob. We are only doing what we have to do to protect him."

Newkirk knitted his brow. "'Ang on a minute—what's going on here? Albert? Jakob? Who _is_ this bloke?" he asked, pointing a thumb toward the doctor.

The physician looked up, startled at the change in _Kapitän_ Ritter's voice. "This man—he is an Englander?" He frowned in Iron Hans's direction. "Perhaps you had better explain, Albert, since you seem to be the only one who sees the whole picture."

Iron Hans nodded and, keeping a firm grip on the steering wheel, he began. "I could not talk before, Jakob. Too many people might have overheard and put us all in danger." He glanced at Carter and Newkirk beside him. "This man," he said, "is Jakob Neumann, my childhood friend, and a helper to us upon occasion. I did not know he was working at this hospital, and when he appeared at the car, I knew he had to join us." He shot a quick look toward the back seat. "He has been most valuable in the past."

Newkirk's eyes widened. "You mean 'e's one of us?" he asked, astonished.

Neumann nodded. "Yes. I was told to begin duties here last week, Albert. There are shortages everywhere, because of the war. But I cannot take sides when it comes to a human life. If there were no uniforms, all men would be the same. They all bleed. They all have loved ones." He looked at Iron Hans. "Please, Albert. Captain Stark should not be out of the hospital."

"This man you are so concerned about is not Captain Stark, Jakob," Iron Hans revealed; "he is Colonel Hogan, an American, and the leader of one of the biggest covert Allied operations in Germany today. The work of a traitor put him in the hands of the Gestapo, and in order to secure his release and get him medical help, it was necessary to continue the charade of him being a victim of some Underground act of revenge. However, we have learned that the traitor was not working alone, and now he is in danger again. If we did not get him away from the hospital, Jakob, he would surely be taken and killed."

Neumann swallowed hard, turning his eyes once more on Hogan, and he watched for a moment as Tiger, her eyes never leaving Hogan's face even in the midst of this new development, continued trying to comfort him. He looked back to his friend. "And these men?" he asked, nodding toward Newkirk and Carter.

"Part of the Colonel's operation. The Englander—Newkirk. And this _Oberst_: an American, Carter."

Carter turned and raised his hand in a short wave. "Hiya."

"This woman is another Underground agent: Tiger. She works very closely with the Colonel and his men."

Neumann looked again at Tiger and Hogan, and suddenly he realized the emotion behind the woman's unceasing care of the injured man. Momentarily overwhelmed, he shook his head. "An amazing feat, Albert. What is to happen to this man?"

"He must return to his prison camp; it is the only way he will be safe. Captain Erich Stark must disappear from existence."

"Return to his… prison camp?"

"Colonel Hogan runs his operation from a _Luftstalag_, where he is a prisoner of war." Iron Hans pulled the car up in front of a small, isolated house—a safe house, used by the Underground in the past. "We are here," he told Hogan's men.

"Good," Newkirk said. He got out of the car and opened the back door near Tiger. "Come on out, love. We've got to move him now," he said gently.

Tiger turned to the Englishman and nodded quietly. Then she slipped out from under Hogan's dead weight and extended a hand to make sure he wouldn't topple forward. But Neumann was carefully holding Hogan by the shoulders, and as the unconscious man began to sink, the doctor eased him down so his head was in the physician's own lap.

Carter led Tiger protectively toward the house as Newkirk moved in. "How do you want to do this, Doc?" the Corporal asked.

Neumann took a focusing breath. This was going to be difficult no matter how they approached it. He looked to see how far away Tiger and Carter were, and when he was reasonably certain they were out of earshot, he replied, "We are going to have to lift him. But carefully—_carefully_," he repeated.

At his friend's orders, Iron Hans moved in close to the door on Neumann's side of the car. Then the doctor told Newkirk to very gently lift Hogan's legs so that he could be slid out of the vehicle and into the bigger man's waiting arms. Newkirk nodded, then swallowed hard and started the task. It was as Neumann had suspected: that first minute movement extorted a cry of pain from the American officer.

Newkirk froze.

"Do not stop," Neumann instructed him. "He is beginning to wake up; the faster we finish this, the better."

Newkirk nodded and, trying to block out the moans of his commanding officer, he continued in his task until Hogan was securely held by Iron Hans. The Englishman cringed as Hogan, a good six feet and well-built himself, seemed so small in the Underground agent's arms.

"I will give him something to relieve his pain," Neumann announced.

It was enough to bring Newkirk out of his daze. "We can't," he said firmly. "Not if it means he'll go back to sleep."

"He is suffering. Surely you don't want that."

"No," Newkirk replied, his anger at the whole situation bubbling to the surface, "I _don't_ want that. That's why he has to be awake. We have to get him back into Stalag 13 with as little fuss as possible, and that means he goes in under his own power."

Neumann's face started turning red. "He has no _power_," the doctor countered hotly. "He cannot _breathe_ without pain; you are expecting him to _walk_?"

"The gov'nor's always known what he might have to do to survive. He'll make it because he has to." Heaving a heavy, angry sigh, Newkirk turned away and headed toward the house. Under his breath, he added, "He always has."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan sat hunched over and semi-conscious on the edge of the hard chair that he had been eased into when they had finally gotten him into his US Army Air Corps uniform. His usually comfortable bomber jacket was now putting excruciating pressure on his throbbing back and shoulders, and every breath he took was shallow and painful, amplifying the pounding in his head and the ache in his eye. But he understood what he had been told after he had been coaxed into full consciousness, and so he concentrated on trying to remain awake and focused on what was to come, and tried to ignore how much he needed the relief of painkillers and a bed to lie down on.

"Don't make him stand for long," Neumann cautioned Carter; "he is very weak, and he will not be able to tolerate it."

Carter nodded, looking anxiously at Hogan sitting nearby. "Gotcha," he said softly.

"And as soon as you are done with whatever it is you say you have to do, he is to be given pain relief immediately," Neumann added sternly.

"Yes," Iron Hans agreed. "And you will be the one to give it to him."

Newkirk nodded and came up beside the doctor. "This is where we take our leave, mate," he said.

Neumann turned to him. "I beg your pardon?"

"Well, you can't go barging into Stalag 13 through the front gate, can you?" Newkirk retorted. "Much as I hate to say it, Doctor, you can't stay with the Colonel. You'll have to come into camp the hard way, and meet up with him again once he's back in the barracks."

"The hard way?" Neumann echoed. He looked worriedly at his friend. "Albert?"

But Iron Hans was smiling gently. "You are safe with him, Jakob. The Colonel's men are most resourceful."

"And armed," Newkirk quipped. His face grew serious as he looked at his commanding officer, so battered and weak, and vulnerable. "You take care of him, Iron Hans."

The Underground agent nodded, and watched as Tiger crouched down in front of Hogan's bent-over figure. "I will," he murmured.

Newkirk moved over to Tiger. "Time to go, love," he said softly.

Tiger nodded, then turned back to the Colonel. She was trying her best to get Hogan to look into her eyes, but it was a difficult feat, and so she settled on laying a hand gently on his knee. He lifted his head slightly, but his eyes remained vaguely fixed on the space between them. "You are going back to Stalag 13 now," she said. "I will meet you there, _non_?" Hogan didn't answer, and Tiger, still worried beyond words, squeezed his knee lightly. "Remember what we told you, and listen to Sergeant Carter and Iron Hans. Do you hear me? Robert?"

Hogan said nothing, and he let his eyes close as he made loose fists with sore hands. Only the sound of his labored breathing met her ears. _This is so hard for him. _Finally, he opened his eyes and raised his head enough to look into Tiger's face. His voice barely a whisper, he said with visible effort, "It's okay. Go."

His head bowed again, as though keeping it up was too much effort. It probably was. Tiger searched his face for a moment, then, knowing Newkirk was waiting for her, she squeezed Hogan's leg affectionately and whispered to him, _"Je suis avec vous, mon chéri." I am with you, my darling._

She stood up and deliberately walked away before she could give in to the emotions rising in her throat. Newkirk looked down at the Colonel, his own feelings tightly balled in his chest. "We'll meet you there, gov'nor," he said. Hogan didn't reply or even move. The Englishman turned to Neumann. "Let's go," he said. "The faster we leave, the faster they'll get him back to camp."

Neumann nodded. He looked with deep compassion at the American Colonel who was struggling so much just to keep his now-tentative grip on consciousness. His eyes bored deeply into his friend's. "Do not push him, Albert. I am telling you: no matter how strong you say this man is, he is already beyond his endurance; he will not last."

Iron Hans nodded his understanding and watched as the unlikely trio departed. Then he turned to Carter, who was staying close to Hogan. "Are you ready?"

"I guess so." No longer dressed as an _Oberst_ but instead as a full _Gruppenf__ührer_, Carter's usually cheerful face was full of concern. "C'mon, Colonel Hogan. We're gonna take you back to Stalag 13. Then there'll be no more running."


	21. A Desperate Deception

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, original characters and storyline belong to L J Groundwater. Thanks.

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Carter looked into the back seat of the car for the tenth time in the last five minutes. If he had hoped to see anything better than what he had seen the other nine times, he was disappointed. Hogan was still back there, of course, but now he wasn't even sitting upright, as he had been when they left the safe house; now, Hogan had sunk down and was practically lying on his side. He was pale and soaked in sweat, groaning through every broken, difficult breath, a trembling mass of pain. "He's nearly out again," Carter told Iron Hans worriedly.

Iron Hans tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "We will be there in a couple of minutes," he said. Leaving the house had taken longer than they expected. Now that the Colonel was awake, carrying him was out of the question, as it would have been unbearable for him, but with no medicine to dull his senses, the short walk to the car had still been excruciating. Hogan had not complained, but more than once he'd simply stopped in his tracks and swayed, only to be propped up and urged on by Carter and Iron Hans. It had taken more energy than the American had stored up, and his exhaustion, coupled with agony that had no hope of immediate relief, was now summoning him back to a painless void, which right now he had no strength or desire to resist.

Iron Hans pulled the car over to the side of the road. "We are nearly at the gates. See what you can do," he said.

Carter hopped out of the car and opened the back door. Hogan, still locked in his own world, did not acknowledge Carter's approach. The young Sergeant slid onto the seat nearest Hogan's head. "Colonel Hogan," he said hesitantly. He hated seeing his commanding officer—his _friend_—like this. And he hated having to make it worse by bringing the Colonel into greater awareness again. But it had to be…

"Colonel," he said again. He reached over and awkwardly lifted Hogan upright. Hogan flinched at his touch and groaned softly. "Colonel Hogan," Carter persisted, "we're nearly at the camp. You have to wake up, sir. Can you hear me?"

Hogan frowned and his eyes remained closed, his breathing punctuated with low sounds that spoke of his struggle with his suffering. "Yes," he finally said through a panting breath. He leaned forward, an instinctive curling into himself to try and ease his pain. It didn't work. "Yes."

"Do you remember what we're going to do, sir?" Carter asked. He bit his lip as he watched Hogan trying so hard to concentrate, to overcome. Was it fair to ask him to do this? Carter shook his head unconsciously. Was it fair to have this happen in the first place?

Hogan raised his hands to his bowed head, pressing them into his face and rocking just slightly. "Yes," he managed, though his jaw was throbbing terribly. "Yes."

Carter nodded. "We'll be there in a minute, sir. Just remember: when you see Klink, you've been with me the whole time… and you're fine."

Hogan grunted a response. Time was running out. Carter got back into the front seat and turned to the agent. "We'd better hurry up. He's not gonna last."

But he wondered if they weren't already too late.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

_Gruppenf__ührer _Knopf stepped out of the car and past his aide, who had opened the door for him. He brushed his way past the hefty guard stammering alongside him and swept into the antechamber of the office of the Kommandant. "He will see me now," the arrogant, moustached officer announced.

Colonel Wilhelm Klink's secretary, Hilda, could only nod as the Luftwaffe officer opened the door to her boss's office and strode in without stopping to even look in her direction. "Your Colonel Hogan was useless to me, Kink," he said.

Klink looked up from the mound of papers on his desk, so stunned to see the high-ranking officer before him that he didn't bother to correct the mispronunciation of his name. "What?" Klink gaped. "But you kept him for so long—"

"Is that the way you greet superior officers, Kink? By opening your mouth like a codfish and sitting at your desk? Are your arms and legs broken?" Knopf antagonized.

"C-certainly not, _Herr_ _Gruppenf__ührer_," Klink stuttered, standing immediately and raising his right arm. "_Heil_ Hitler," he said, mortified.

Knopf raised a single eyebrow as he raised his own arm in salute. "_Heil_ Hitler, indeed, Kink." He shook his head once, sharply. "Your Colonel Hogan—he is most impudent."

At this, Klink laughed nervously. "_Klink_, sir," he tried to correct—very, very quietly. "Well, sir—you see, Hogan isn't like any ordinary prisoner. He's very—"

"I could tell!" Knopf cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "He is either an idiot—or a genius."

"Didn't he help you with the aircraft designs as you requested, _Herr __Gruppenf__ührer_?"

"Requested?" Knopf practically spat at Klink. "I do not _request_ anything of prisoners, Kink."

"_Klink_," Klink couldn't help muttering under his breath. Louder, he twittered nervously again. "No, of course not, _Herr_ _Gruppenf__ührer_."

"Of course he helped with the designs," Knopf snapped. "The planes looked beautiful."

Klink relaxed and almost allowed himself to smile.

"But when we tested them, every single one of them _exploded_ when it reached three thousand feet!"

Klink's smile disappeared. He should have known Hogan would be able to pull off something like this. Knopf was right in the second case, he thought: Hogan _was_ a genius.

The door to Klink's office opened again, and Hilda, looking distressed and flustered, announced, "Colonel Hogan, sir."

"Send him in."

Hilda stepped back, and Iron Hans entered the room, supporting Colonel Hogan, whom everyone present could clearly tell was almost out on his feet. Klink gasped. _"Hogan!"_

"You may have him back now," Knopf announced dispassionately. Carter prayed his usually perfect German officer cover hadn't been blown by the sudden waver in his voice.

"Wha—what happened to him?" Klink asked, horrified and concerned.

"He slipped," Knopf replied haughtily.

"_Slipped?_" Klink repeated, disbelieving. "B-but he looks like he's been beat—"

"Colonel Hogan—tell Kommandant Kink what happened. Tell him how you _slipped_ on the way out of the laboratory," Knopf said menacingly.

Klink looked at Hogan, whose mind didn't even seem to be in the room with them. The American opened his mouth once or twice as though he was ready to speak, but no words came out. Finally, Hogan coughed slightly, and his face twisted in pain.

"Tell him, Hogan," Knopf pushed as Klink's expression became even more concerned. _Please, Colonel, just this one thing—we've almost got him!_

"He's right, Kommandant," Hogan finally rasped. "I slipped."

Klink shook his head in astonishment. "Hogan, you couldn't _possibly_ have gotten those injuries by—"

"Leave it, Colonel," Hogan warned in a low voice. "I slipped."

Klink blinked in incredulity, then turned to Knopf. "_Herr __Gruppenf__ührer_, we must get Colonel Hogan to a hospital—"

"That won't be necessary," Knopf overrode him with a shake of his head. "He is fine." His eyes burned into Klink's even as he addressed the American officer. "Aren't you, Colonel Hogan?"

Aware of everything riding on his performance, Hogan pulled himself away from the grasp of Iron Hans and forced himself to stand upright. Immediately dizzy and nauseous, he stared at the humidor on Klink's desk and said in as strong a voice as he could muster, "Yes, sir. It looks worse than it is, Kommandant. I just need to get some sleep."

Klink looked from Hogan to Knopf and back again. The _Gruppenf__ührer_ clearly had some control over the American Colonel, and while in other circumstances Klink might have envied that, the condition Hogan was in now made Klink only regret it. Hogan was never going to admit to being seriously injured with Knopf standing there, Klink realized; even _without _Knopf, Hogan was so stubborn, he might never admit it at all. Klink decided the best course of action was to end this whole encounter as soon as possible, and so he decided to accept Hogan at his word and get the _Gruppenf__ührer_ out of his office.

"Then you'd better go get some. You'll need to answer roll call later."

"Yes, sir," Hogan replied softly, and with a shaky and what appeared to be tiring salute, he turned and brushed past Iron Hans and out of the office.

Knopf looked back at Klink. "That's better, Kink. Make sure he obeys the rules of the camp. If this plan to use prisoners was not one of the _Führer's_, I would have shot Hogan myself after the third plane exploded." The _Gruppenf__ührer _shook his head. "Colonel Hogan is a genius at making a mess of things, and an idiot at life—that is why we sent him back here, Kink. Stalag 13 seems to be the perfect place for an idiot." Knopf raised his right hand again. "_Heil_ Hitler."

Klink raised his hand limply. "_Heil_ Hitler," he responded glumly, pre-occupied by the lingering image in his mind of Hogan practically staggering out of the office.

As Klink called for Schultz, Knopf and Iron Hans quickly left the _Kommandantur_ and got into the car to leave. It was all Carter could do to stop himself from running back into the compound when he saw Hogan collapse in the middle of the yard.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Kinch would have kicked down the door to Barracks Two if Le Beau hadn't been there to open it. Out in the yard when Hogan had driven back into camp with Carter and Iron Hans, the Sergeant had intended to meet his commanding officer in the middle of the compound and escort him back to their quarters. He had nearly reached him when Hogan had abruptly and silently collapsed, and he ran to the Colonel to stop him from hitting the ground hard.

_The Krauts can't see this!_ Kinch thought urgently, as he caught Hogan's now-limp body and practically ran back to the hut. Le Beau had been only a few steps behind him, and he threw the door open, then did the same to the door to Hogan's office. Oblivious to anything but the potential danger facing them, Kinch bundled Hogan into the barracks and then, slowly, laid the Colonel out on the bottom bunk in his quarters. That done, he took in and let out a heavy breath. "That was close."

"_Oui_," Le Beau agreed. "But I think it's okay. Schultz was still in Klink's office, and I didn't see any other guards around."

Kinch gathered his wits, then looked at Hogan lying lifeless on the bunk and suddenly felt terrible about the way he'd manhandled him. Hogan's face was pale, practically ashen, and the expression on his face telegraphed his pain, his exhaustion, his misery, despite his unconsciousness. The others had been accurate about the Colonel's condition when they had come back from the hospital, but Kinch hadn't pictured anything like this. He knew that underneath Hogan's uniform were injuries he couldn't even begin to imagine, and he'd probably feel sick to his stomach when he finally saw them for himself.

"We'd better get Wilson," he said somberly.

But before he could get out the door of the barracks, the bunk hiding the tunnel rattled. Kinch looked outside quickly and then shut the door, moving to where the ladder was starting to appear. Soon after it banged into place, Newkirk's head appeared, and Kinch helped him climb into the common room.

"Everything went okay," Newkirk began. "How's the—"

"We've got trouble," Kinch interrupted. "The Colonel collapsed in the yard. I'm gonna go get Wilson."

"What?" Newkirk gave a start, then said, "Hang on, Kinch. I've got someone right here who can help." He turned and called back down the tunnel. "You'd better come up, then." Looking back at Kinch, he said, "We brought a couple of people back with us."

Kinch furrowed his brow, then looked at Newkirk questioningly when a man unknown to him climbed into the barracks, his own eyes wide with astonishment. Tiger followed close behind, leaving Kinch totally flummoxed. "What—?"

"This gent here is Doctor Neumann," Newkirk explained briefly. "He's a friend of Iron Hans, and he was working at the hospital when we went to spring the gov'nor." The Englishman said to the physician, "Colonel Hogan's in bad shape. You'd better come."

Immediately concerned, Neumann followed Kinch to Hogan's quarters, with Newkirk ushering Tiger through the barracks behind them. Neumann pushed past Le Beau, who was watching Hogan closely, and studied the Colonel's face. He pursed his lips tightly and shook his head.

"He is in pain. I told you he would not last!" Neumann said accusingly. He pulled down the blanket Le Beau had drawn up, wanting to examine Hogan more carefully. He shook his head again, frustrated. "I have nothing to work with—no instruments; no supplies," he said crossly. "I need bandages, sterile dressings, alcohol. How am I supposed to look after him with nothing but my bare hands?"

"The medicine the nurse gave us is in the tunnel," Newkirk said.

"Get it," Neumann ordered, his voice strained.

"Right." And the Englishman was gone.

"I will get our camp medic," Le Beau volunteered. "He will have other things you may need."

"You'd better go through the tunnel, Louis," Kinch suggested. He paused, hating to admit how bad things were. "The Krauts might wonder what's going on if he comes here with a load of medical gear."

Le Beau nodded grimly. "I won't be long."

The doctor turned back to Kinch, his voice hard. "I do not understand your persistence—this man should not have been up and walking around. He has suffered badly because of your stubbornness."

"It was necessary, Doctor," Kinch explained, unhappy with the necessity of the action himself. "Klink's a half-decent guy as far as POW camp Kommandants go; we couldn't take a chance on him sending the Colonel to the hospital. The staff there would recognize him as Captain Stark, and that would be even more hazardous to his health than crossing the compound."

"Perhaps," Neumann conceded, his angry voice losing some of its passion. "But this is not an ideal situation for him."

"We know," Kinch agreed with a small nod. "Believe me, we know."

Kinch looked at Tiger, who had quietly moved in to be near Hogan, and who was now simply holding his hand and watching his face. She made not a sound, but Kinch knew she was speaking volumes. He also knew that affection for Hogan aside, she was still somehow blaming herself for this whole mess. He came up behind her and put a hand gently on her shoulder. "You're okay?" he asked softly.

Tiger nodded, never taking her eyes off of Hogan. "_Oui_," she answered quietly. "He is here now. I know you will not let anything happen to him."

"That's right," Kinch said. "Or to you, either." _Nothing aside from what already has._


	22. Release

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes character is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, storyline and original characters belongs to L J Groundwater.

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Sergeant Wilson looked at Kinch's exhausted face and drew him aside. "You need to get some sleep," he said. "Colonel Hogan is resting; there's nothing you can do for him at the moment."

"I have to _be here_, Joe," Kinch answered, his voice almost desperate. "I just have to… to…" He shook his head, unsure of what words to say. He wanted to explain better, to tell Wilson how he needed to make up for everything he hadn't been able to do in the last week, but he didn't know how.

But Wilson didn't need to hear more. "Okay," he said simply. "Then be here. But don't get yourself too worn out. That won't help you _or_ the Colonel."

"Deal." Kinch nodded. "Joe," he added suddenly, as the medic turned to the stove. Wilson turned back to him. "How is he? _Really._"

The radio man's last word dismissed any thoughts Wilson might have had about sugar-coating his answer. He ran a hand over his hair and sighed. "He's pretty sick," he admitted. Kinch's eyes grew even sadder. "It was ugly, Kinch. Really ugly. I don't know how he even _began_ to walk across camp to face the Kommandant. Doctor Neumann is right; the Colonel belongs in a hospital. But if we can keep an eye on him properly here, he should be all right." He thought of Tiger, whom he'd had to practically push out of the room when he and Neumann worked on Hogan. "There are a lot of people who want to look after him," he added quietly.

Kinch stared at Hogan's door, seeing right through it. "When he was with the Gestapo, he looked after all of _us_, Joe," he said hoarsely. "The least we can do is repay the favor."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Carter was just climbing up into the common room when the door to Barracks Two opened and Sergeant Schultz came barreling in. Le Beau quickly diverted the guard's attention by moving toward the stove, while Carter rapidly punched the latch so the bunk would fall back into place. "What can we do for you, Schultz?" Le Beau asked as he thrust a spoon into a pot and covered it with a lid.

The guard predictably followed the possibility of good cooking and totally ignored Carter's unorthodox entrance. "Mmm… what are you making, Cockroach?"

"Nothing, Schultz. I'm just wasting time."

The side of Schultz's lips rose up in a smug half-smile. "_Hmf_—I love it when you waste your time with pots and pans. It is never a waste of _my_ time."

Le Beau kept stirring. "_This_ will be, Schultz. The pot is empty."

Now Schultz let out a laugh. "Jolly joker."

"I'm not kidding, Schultzie; look for yourself."

Le Beau moved aside and lifted the lid. The big guard peered into the pot expectantly, and frowned, disappointed, when the Frenchman turned out to be right. "Cockroach, why are you stirring an empty pot?"

Le Beau shrugged. "Practice!"

Newkirk came up beside Schultz and asked, "What can we do for you, Schultz?"

Putting his disappointment aside, the German replied, "The Kommandant wanted me to tell Colonel Hogan that he doesn't really have to come to roll call this afternoon. He just had to say that because _Gruppenf__ührer_ Knopf was there." Lowering his voice, Schultz added, "You know how the Kommandant does not like to stand up to the big shots."

As Le Beau's eyes rolled skyward again, Carter agreed, "Oh, we _know_, Schultz."

"Kommandant Klink is worried," the guard confided. "He thinks that the _Gruppenf__ührer_ hurt Colonel Hogan himself. And he thinks Colonel Hogan should be taken to the hospital."

"No, no, Schultz," Kinch said quickly. "He'll be all right. He just needs to be left alone for awhile. Maybe a few days, okay?"

Schultz nodded reluctantly, wrinkling his brow. "_Ja_… I will tell the Kommandant." He threw a glance toward Hogan's door, then turned his eyes toward Newkirk. "And you—Newkirk—you are no longer needed as _electrician _in this camp."

"Why's that, Schultz?" Newkirk asked innocently.

"Corporal Mueller is back. The Kommandant made him look into the problems with the blackouts immediately. And he found out," he said, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, "that one of the fuses was missing altogether."

"Is that so?" Newkirk replied, sounding astonished. "Well, there you have it, Schultz—no wonder I couldn't fix it. No matter what I did, it wasn't going to work!"

"That's right." Schultz paused. "Newkirk," he asked finally, "did you take the part away to tease the Kommandant?"

Newkirk's eyes widened in protest. "_Me_, Schultzie? Now that's a fine thing to say," he admonished. "I didn't even know what I was looking at—this German technology is very different from our English lot." He shrugged. "I guess I'll just have to admit there are just some things that the Krauts do better than the British."

Schultz snorted. "When you find one of those things, let me know." He looked back to the stove. "It would be better to practice with something real," he announced, frowning. "Anyone can stir an empty pot."

Le Beau shrugged. "I've _never_ been able to do it before, Schultz. This is something _new_ for me. I'm very excited!"

Schultz shrugged. "_Huh_," he muttered, unimpressed. "Congratulations."

The men pushed and shuffled the guard out of the hut. Carter immediately turned to his friends and asked worriedly, "How's the Colonel? I saw him fall in the yard but I was still being Knopf so I couldn't come back."

It was Kinch who answered him. "He's still out. The doctor and Wilson say he belongs in a hospital."

Carter nodded. "He was pretty bad in the car," he said. "Iron Hans had to pull over so I could try and wake him up again." His brow furrowed. "I hated that."

"_Oui_, I know," Le Beau said brusquely, not wanting to think about it. He studied his friend's anxious face, then came and took Carter by the arm and led him to the table. "Sit. It is time to force Tiger away from _le Colonel's_ side for a meal. You can be her companion."

Carter hesitated, then agreed, still frowning. "Okay."

"And you will have to be _pleasant_. No glum faces—she needs someone happy around her." Le Beau looked at Carter's face again and knitted his brow. "_Smile!_" he ordered.

"Okay, okay," Carter almost laughed. An amused grin lifted the edges of his mouth. "Will that do?"

"That will be _perfect_," Le Beau answered.

Kinch smiled at the insightful care the Frenchman was giving Carter. _You never let on how much you really know people, do you, Louis?_ he thought appreciatively. _You always cover it up with… food. _"I'll go get her," he offered.

As Le Beau continued giving both Carter and Newkirk instructions on how to behave, Kinch went into the Colonel's quarters. Tiger was exactly where he'd left her—sitting on a short stool not two feet from the bed. She had a damp cloth in her hands, and every so often she would reach out and lightly run it over Hogan's face. Aside from an occasional groan, he did not respond or react, but that didn't deter her, and Kinch just watched as she patiently repeated the gentle ritual.

He came up beside her as she put the cloth on the footlocker next to the bed. "You're needed in the other room," Kinch said softly.

Tiger turned and looked up at the Sergeant. "Needed?"

"Yeah—you have to rescue Carter. Louis's about to force feed him, and if you don't help, the poor fella's gonna be overstuffed."

Tiger smiled. "That will be difficult to stop; Corporal Le Beau likes people to eat."

Kinch nodded and patted his stomach fondly. "I know," he smiled back.

Tiger stood up. "I will try my best," she agreed. She looked at Kinch as his eyes were drawn to Hogan. "You will come, too?" she asked.

Kinch nodded absently. "In a minute," he replied.

"In a minute," she repeated, as though holding him to a vow.

Tiger took a last look at Hogan herself, then made her way out of the room. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Kinch thanked the Frenchwoman for her sensitivity; he knew that some part of her sensed his need to be alone with his commanding officer, and she had graciously allowed that to happen. He sat down on the stool and stared through Hogan as he considered how close they had been to losing the Colonel; how helpless and powerless he had felt when Hogan was in the hospital; how frightened he had been when he saw Hogan fall in the yard; how miraculously they had managed to rescue the Colonel before it was too late.

_Before_ it was too late, he repeated to himself. Hogan was safe now. He wasn't well, he was terribly ill, but it wasn't too late. _It wasn't too late._

Kinch closed his eyes and let his emotions wash over him. It had been a long week, he realized, probably the longest of his life.

"Hey."

Kinch's eyes shot open at the unexpected soft sound of Colonel Hogan's voice. He blinked back tears, then looked at his commanding officer's eyes, which, though still fighting illness, were struggling to be alert. "Hey, Colonel," the Sergeant answered with a smile. _God…it's so good to see you…._

Hogan smiled weakly as his friend seemed to float over him. "Don't you ever sleep?"

"Plenty of times," Kinch answered. "Just not as much as _you_ at the moment." He picked up the damp cloth and gently wiped the Colonel's brow.

"Don't take this… personally," Hogan managed through a difficult breath, shifting slightly on the blankets against which he'd been propped, "but I'd rather… my nurses not be able to… grow a moustache."

Kinch grinned as he replaced the cloth on the nearby footlocker. "Then you obviously don't remember the one from the hospital," he said lightly, starting to adjust the blanket covering the Colonel. "Newkirk said she was a real… man's man."

Hogan tried to laugh, but found himself taking a sharp, hissing breath instead. The dull, unfocused pain he had woken up to was rapidly growing teeth. Kinch dropped the blanket—and his grin—immediately. "Are you all right? Should I get help?"

"No," Hogan said nearly inaudibly, raising one hand in protest, then quickly losing his strength and letting it fall. "Enough of… doctors…"

Kinch watched anxiously as Hogan struggled to remain focused and push his pain away. It was a difficult process, and exhausting, Kinch knew. As beads of perspiration broke out once again on Hogan's forehead, the Sergeant dipped the cloth into the bowl of cool water and wrung it out, touching it to the Colonel's face as the officer closed his eyes.

"You just take it easy, sir," Kinch advised softly. "No one's after you now."

"Did Klink… fall for it?" Hogan panted, straining just to complete the question.

"Yes, sir," Kinch answered. He heard Hogan moan softly as he touched the cloth to the back of the Colonel's neck. "It's all good. Please don't worry."

Hogan winced, squeezed his eyes shut tighter. "Always… worry," Hogan persisted, as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. "'s my… right."

Kinch let a half-smile touch his lips. "Yes, sir. It _is_ your right. But you're back in camp now, and it's all under your control again, okay? Nothing's gonna happen unless you say so." _Unless we have to do something else to protect you. Then I promise you, Colonel: we'll do whatever it takes—whether you agree to it or not. And I'll be the first one there._

Almost as though he had heard Kinch's thoughts, Hogan forced his eyes open and tried to stare the radio man in the face. "No risks…" he breathed. His already aching jaw sent stabs of pain up his face and down his neck. "Nothing… stupid to be heroic."

"No, sir; nothing stupid," Kinch answered, giving Hogan's face a final once-over before dropping the cloth back in the bowl. _Not that I didn't want to… Lord, how I wanted to come to you when you were with the Gestapo… and at that hospital…. _"Only what's necessary."

Hogan seemed to accept the answer and closed his eyes. Kinch studied him for a moment, and, when the Colonel said nothing else, he stood to leave.

For the second time, Hogan's faint voice took him by surprise. "You stayed here… all… the time, Kinch? You… made sure… everything was… running okay?"

Hogan's earnestness, his neediness, struck a chord in Kinch. Rather than being upset that the Sergeant hadn't come to help directly when Hogan was in Düsseldorf or the hospital, the Colonel seemed desperate to know that Kinch had stayed behind—that he had watched over Stalag 13 in Hogan's absence, even while Hogan was in danger. "Sure, Colonel," Kinch answered smoothly, his mind still in a whirl. "Everything was okay."

"Good." Hogan took in and let out a breath, seeming to relax at the very confirmation that Kinch had been in control. He groaned and closed his eyes again wearily. "I knew you'd… take care of things… make sure no one was… in any trouble."

Kinch absorbed Hogan's statement of confidence in him, and for a moment simply watched as his commanding officer lapsed into what at first appeared to be restless sleep. But as Hogan began to writhe and try to jerk away from the bunk, letting out short, sharp cries, Kinch was startled into action—the Colonel wasn't falling asleep, he suddenly realized; he was being overwhelmed by pain, and no amount of staring on the Sergeant's part was going to help. "I'll get the doctor, Colonel," Kinch said, leaning close in case Hogan could hear him. "_Nothing stupid just to be heroic_, sir—and that means you, too."

Hogan didn't answer him as he bolted out the door.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan's men crowded close together in the tunnel as Iron Hans made his report. "The Gestapo turned up at the hospital in Hammelburg, just hours after we left with Colonel Hogan," he said. "The staff was, of course, unable to give him any information about Captain Stark, other than the fact that he was very ill and had been removed by men dressed in _Abwehr_ uniform."

"What about Doctor Neumann?" asked Carter of the man who had been returned to the hospital late last night.

"Jakob knows his job well. He told the Gestapo that he was taken against his will, that he was blindfolded and kept in the dark, and that he was only allowed out to look after the Captain, so he had no idea where he was. He told them he overheard his captors talking about getting Captain Stark to England so he did not have to face his superiors in Berlin, who would surely have them all court-martialed—or simply shot."

Hogan's men nodded approval. "That's great," Newkirk admitted.

"Yeah, that keeps _everyone_ in the clear," Carter added; "Tiger, the Colonel, Major Teppel—everybody!"

"How is Colonel Hogan?" Iron Hans asked.

"Doctor Neumann made sure the medic has everything he needs to look after him," Kinch replied, "and the Kommandant's too scared of being caught out by _Gruppenf__ü__hrer_ Knopf to do much more than let the Colonel rest in the barracks till he's recovered."

Iron Hans nodded appreciatively. "Jakob will come back tonight," he said. "And every night for as long as he is needed." He smiled. "I think he has come to like the intrigue of these tunnels." The big man sighed. "The Hunter was a good man at first—that is what they tell me. He was so willing, so eager to do so much. But when the time came to face the Gestapo—" He stopped. "Well," he concluded quietly, "some men can endure… and some men cannot."

Hogan's men contemplated Iron Hans's words solemnly. "Do we know who he spoke to?" Kinch asked eventually.

"He confided in someone at the police station where he worked," Iron Hans replied. "When he did not show up the next day, they investigated and then told their story to the Gestapo."

Carter swallowed hard. "What about the Underground at Hofberg?" he asked.

"This has effectively destroyed them, at least for the foreseeable future," Iron Hans answered with a shake of his head. "The members are safe for now; the Hunter appears to have given no names other than those of Tiger and Captain Stark. They will not stay out of action forever, but until they are certain what the Hunter has done, they will lie low."

"And that bloody assembly plant rolls merrily on," Newkirk remarked.

"That may be true," Iron Hans admitted, "but the important thing is that Papa Bear is safe."

"You bet," Kinch agreed. The others murmured their accord immediately. "And if I know Colonel Hogan, he won't let that plant remain standing for long."

"He'll consider it a personal challenge," Le Beau added proudly.

"Yeah," Newkirk said. Then, thoughtfully, he added, "The gov'nor's got _far too many_ personal challenges at the moment. I wish the Fates would just conspire for awhile to bloody well leave him alone."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"I've just given him a shot of morphine; he's going to fade out soon," Wilson said to Tiger as she came up beside him in Hogan's quarters.

The Frenchwoman nodded, her face still creased with worry. When the medic gently closed the door on the way out, she sat on the stool near the bunk and took Hogan's hand tenderly in her own. She looked into his eyes, her heart full, but did not speak. Hogan looked at nothing, his eyes dull and disinterested. Pain had taken a heavy toll on him in the last hour, and he was waiting dazedly for the medicine Wilson had administered to rescue him.

Tiger leaned close to hear as, to her surprise, Hogan suddenly spoke. "I'm sorry I missed our… rendezvous in Hofberg," he whispered. "I made you… pay for your own d—… drinks. I wouldn't… blame you if… you told… people I'm a… lousy date."

Tiger smiled without parting her lips. She brushed her hand lightly across his forehead, moved a sweat-damp lock of hair away. "I was not thirsty," she replied in a whisper.

Hogan's eyes slid shut. "Beer was… lousy, anyway," he muttered.

Tiger smiled, then gently stroked Hogan's hand as he seemed to drift back to sleep. "I had a dream about you," he said eventually.

Tiger blinked herself into reality at the soft voice. "You did?" she asked, leaning in again.

Hogan's eyes were open now; he was trying to look straight into her eyes, but even that small effort was too difficult and his gaze kept falling away. "Yeah… Crazy… I was with the Gestapo…." The tiniest of smiles as his eyes closed again. "You came… told them you were… Red Cross." Hogan let out a breath that Tiger interpreted as a laugh. "I told you I… was… Captain Stark. We fooled 'em." The smile remained even as he fell quiet again.

Tiger's eyes filled. Hogan remembered her coming to him in his cell, after all… but he had dismissed it as a dream. The hope she had so desperately wanted to convey to him during that daring visit had missed its mark and yet… somehow he had still carried on. She held Hogan's hand more possessively. "We did," she whispered back almost urgently. Then she added through tears she could no longer suppress, "Robert… I am so sorry."

Though heavy-headed and just starting to float on the morphine he'd been given, Hogan could nonetheless hear the brokenness in Tiger's voice, an emotion that he could not bear in this woman about whom he cared so much. He struggled to open his eyes, trying to ignore the still-stabbing pain in his right one, which he was almost sure he remembered someone—that German doctor?—telling him was not as bad as it felt and would clear of its own accord over the next few weeks. He tried to tighten his child's-strength grip on her hand, and found that though he knew what he wanted to say, he could barely get out a whisper. "N… Nothing…" God, this was hard. Every syllable was such an extraordinary effort. "…to—be… _sorry_… about."

Hogan stopped to rest. Breathing took all his concentration.

He felt her massaging his hand rhythmically, knew she was struggling with something, wished he was stronger and able to reassure her.

"Yes, there is," Tiger insisted. "That meeting at the _hofbräu_ was a trap. It was set for _me_ by that horrible traitor. If I had not insisted on being the one to meet you—"

"N_-nuh—_" Hogan wanted to cut her off right there, but he could not muster the strength to do so, and so he had to let her continue her illogical self-blame. He hated it, but he could not stop it.

"—you would have met with someone else and made it out safely."

_No… no!_ Hogan was practically shouting in his mind. Out loud he could manage only a firmly mumbled, "Don't… know that." Another pause for breath. "…'sides… wouldn't have… wanted to… meet… anybody else."

The drugs were winning. Hogan could barely open his mouth to protest. His eyelids were getting so heavy, and he couldn't see Tiger's face clearly. The touch of her hand holding his was now almost non-existent. Hogan fought the blackness; he needed just one more moment to tell her something that when his mind was clear again he knew he might never say… "I…"

But he finally lost. Hogan's eyes closed, his already-feeble grasp on her hand slackened, and his breathing evened out, labored but steady. Tiger pressed the back of his hand hard against her cheek. There was so much more she wanted to say. But Hogan's vulnerable condition and her own refusal to say anything that could make it harder for him to make the sometimes-incredibly difficult command decisions he was forced to make left the words dying in her throat, and filling her heart.

Neither Hogan nor Tiger knew that they were both struggling with the same words. But both of them _did _know, somehow, that during the war they would never speak them aloud.

But perhaps, if they endured the war, their time would come.


End file.
